


Waiting for an Eclipse

by magicianlogician12



Series: Some Kind of Emotion [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Redemption arc central, Slow Burn, more tags to be added later, spoilers for some aspects of KotET
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 82,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: In a time of chaos and upheaval, Alliance Commander Sethali Kuda leads the fight against the Eternal Throne...and ends up with unexpected additions to her fledgling faction. With an enigmatic force controlling the Eternal Fleet and a Zakuulan Exarch on the rise, Sethali has her work cut out for her keeping the only force that stands a chance against the throne--and the ancient Sith entity in her head--from splintering upon itself.To Vaylin, she has always been denied the freedom to choose. Confronted by the survival of her family and the Alliance who took them in after the dethroning of her brother, Arcann, she chooses freedom. While the path to redemption is a long and complicated one, this time, every step she takes is her choice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! This fic has been in the works for quite some time now, and I'm eager to get going, but there's a few topics to cover first:
> 
> I'm going to be up-front in that this fic will likely never be on a consistent update schedule, due to a combination of a full-time job and recent upheaval in my personal life, but I will do my best to ensure there isn't too wide a time gap between chapters.
> 
> Secondly, this will be a non-canon-compliant retelling of KotET, and thus will not follow the main storyline. Several elements and plot points will remain the same, but most of them will be out of order, and several won't appear at all.

For as long as she could remember, Vaylin had never been gifted the privilege of choice.

As a girl, her power running rampant, terrifying even the Knights in her family’s loyal service, she had taken that freedom for granted. As that same girl, in the depths of Nathema, her power being stripped away piece by piece, watching pieces of herself crumble away along with it, she had learned the fatal consequences of relenting, of receding. As High Justice of the Eternal Throne, she was free, but it came at a cost, and the word was biting, laced with a subtle poison.

That poison was still present, even here, but its bitter tang was less potent here, and Vaylin didn’t know how to feel about it.

Voss was an unusual world. According to the records obtained from the Empire and Republic, it was a fairly recent discovery, inhabited by enigmatic Force-sensitives who were more similar in method to Zakuul’s than she expected, and yet very different, utterly unique--to them the Force was not light or dark, but neither was it used as the Knights used it.

The portion of Voss-Ka set aside for those not native to this world was teeming with soldiers and robe-clad Force-users, either Jedi or Sith. It was clear to Vaylin the peace was an enforced one, and not one by choice, based on the wide margin each side gave the other. Merchants sold their goods cheerfully and without judgment--no judgment that anyone not skilled in the Force could sense, at least--to both sides, for the most part, though a few, who wore the respective uniforms from both sides, were clearly here to represent their people. For what, Vaylin didn’t know, and didn’t have time to care.

All of this Vaylin observed from behind a nondescript hood and mask as she walked the avenues of Voss-Ka’s alien enclave, searching for directions to the Shrine of Healing.

It was clear, however, that it was simply a  _ known _ location--directions rarely needed to be given, because everyone knew where it was. It would be comparable if Vaylin had been back on Zakuul and asked where the Spire was: everyone simply  _ knew _ .

At last, she obtained a map and instructions from the skyhopper nearby, but part of their journey would have to be on foot. That complicated things. Her brother--layabout that he was--could still only move for short periods before needing to rest, after his fight with the Outlander, the Alliance Commander.

None of his injuries were life-threatening on their own, and none of them were even made with a plasma weapon--since they’d known from the beginning that the Outlander was no Force-sensitive--but together, combined with the stress of travel these past few weeks, it had taken a more severe toll on him than expected.

Senya-- _ Mother _ \--refused to leave his side for long, so it fell to Vaylin to reluctantly scout out their destination.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, either.

After committing the details of the map to memory, she made the trek back to where Senya had landed Arcann’s personal shuttle a few hours ago. The shuttle’s pilot was out, pacing a line into the golden grass with every anxious step.

Senya wouldn’t be staying long, of that Vaylin had little doubt. What was most uncertain was what Vaylin would do when the inevitable abandonment came.

A choice had brought her here, and another choice would bring her elsewhere, when it all came to a head. If nothing else, it would be  _ hers _ .

“You’ve returned.” Senya sounded relieved, relieved beyond measure, in fact, and Vaylin narrowed her eyes dangerously. “What have you found?”

“A path to the mountains where the shrine is.” Vaylin turned over her shoulder and pointed in the vague direction of where they’d need to go. “Part of it’s on foot. Let’s hope you’re as good at running as I remember.”

Vaylin sensed the sharp pang of Senya’s regret in her chest as if it was her own, and just as quickly dismissed it. Her mother was here, but wouldn’t be for long. She had  _ never _ stuck around when it mattered.

Her gaze wandered up to the shuttle, where her brother lay. Arguably the last member of her family. If nothing else, she would stand by him. For now.

Folding her arms tightly and scowling out at the vast, foreign wilderness, Vaylin sensed when her mother and brother emerged, drawing closer and closer--Arcann was only partially conscious, and Senya was all but carrying him, which  _ further _ complicated their plans for getting him to the temple. Her brother had never made things easy before. No particular reason to start now.

With an explosive sigh, Vaylin turned and said, with mock cheer, “Well, shall we be on our way?”

* * *

 

For as long as she could remember, Sethali had never been gifted the privilege of choice.

As a girl, it was a given--responsible parents didn’t let their spawn run around Nar Shaddaa’s underworld unsupervised, and for all their flaws, Sethali’s parents had been responsible, in that regard at least. As the replacement and surrogate daughter for a Jedi-turned-Sith, Sethali had realized exactly how much freedom she had lost during her years on Dromund Kaas--the freedom to simply  _ be _ .

And then...

_ Onomatophobia, no one should challenge a member of the Dark Council, Castellan restraints were placed as a precaution, iconoclasm, repeated doses carry side effects-- _

Sethali looked at her shaking hands, the tremors unusually strong today.

Then, there was that.

Here, on Odessen, and from a time long before that, Sethali had learned to not take her choices for granted. Here she chose to look up at the mounted chrono on the wall, she chose to rise to her feet and lean against the wall for a moment of stability, chose to walk to the caf maker in the corner and switch it on with an irritable sigh.

She’d taken the smallest things for granted once. Now, they felt like victories, albeit insignificant and sometimes meaningless ones.

It was still too early for the sun to have risen, but Sethali was too restless to sleep again tonight. Her datapad lay in the corner, and stars knew she had enough to keep her busy for the next few weeks alone. She had to learn what SCORPIO hoped to accomplish at the helm of the Eternal Fleet. She had to consult with Admiral Aygo to see about bolstering their defenses in the wake of the Battle of Odessen, as so many had already taken to calling it mere days after the conflict. There were wounds to heal, ships to repair, and time was short.

She also had to find the remaining members of Zakuul’s royal family. It was too early to tell if they were still an active and immediate threat, but Sethali had a feeling her desperate attempt to incapacitate the shuttle before it departed for hyperspace had been unsuccessful. Or successful, depending on what she felt about the decision every time she thought back on it. Unsuccessful because she had failed to stop them. Successful because they had survived, even if they  _ had _ escaped.

Sethali hadn’t  _ wanted _ to destroy the shuttle. She didn’t want to kill Senya, who’d proven to be a valuable ally, even a friend, during the Alliance’s early days.

Sethali didn’t want to kill them, not unless it became a last resort. But she  _ did _ want to understand why Senya felt so certain it was worthwhile to keep them both alive.

Her caf machine beeped quietly a few times, and Sethali let out a breath as she got up to pour herself a generous cup of the stuff. She wouldn’t learn anything sitting here wishing things had turned out differently.

In the war room, a few of the night guards remained, and straightened when they saw her, but Sethali waved her hand in a half-hearted gesture that made them relax. Authority took some getting used to. Absolute authority was unthinkable.

Sethali felt that same prickle in the back of her neck that said Valkorion was preparing to pay her a visit, and she pursed her lips as she turned where she knew he would appear. He didn’t look pleased, but then he rarely did. Sethali felt a burst of ruthless satisfaction at that.

_ “Even now, you refuse to acknowledge the destiny that awaits you.” _ Valkorion regarded her like a disapproving parent, and it almost made Sethali sorry for the royal children, though she had a feeling a disapproving glare was hardly the worst they had seen from the emperor.  _ “The Eternal Throne is close enough to grasp, and you’ve made no move to reach for it.” _

“I can’t very well take it while SCORPIO controls it.” Sethali pointed out, resting her weight on one hip, opting for humor only because she knew it was far more frustrating to Valkorion than anything else. “Not without a  _ very _ good plan.”

_ “The droid is inconsequential, as you should know.”  _ the disapproving slant of Valkorion’s jaw sharply increased, but Sethali was undeterred, folding her arms tightly against her stomach.  _ “Neither of my children stands ready to claim the throne at present, but they will not be idle long.” _

“How unhelpfully vague that you tell me this, but not where to find them.” Sethali arched a brow as she uncrossed her arms and began to tie her dark brunette hair up in its usual tie, seeming as though she hardly had a care in the world, not even for the immortal emperor who refused to leave her brain. “I know they’re out there, and I  _ will _ find them, with or without your help. I’ve never needed it before.”

He said nothing to the statement, a statement Sethali had made many times before, and would likely say again many times in the future, and vanished so quickly it left Sethali with a mild ache in her forehead. She pinched the bridge of her tattooed nose, closed her eyes, and willed the ache to disappear.

Her patience was rewarded, and slowly Sethali’s mind felt like her own again. It was a lie, because her head was not  _ truly _ her own while Valkorion remained, but it was a comforting lie, for now.

She had long ago learned the consequences of a comforting lie, however, and she didn’t intend to be caught with her guard down again.

The first few hours Sethali spent in the war room, she scrolled through damage and casualty reports from the battle. They’d come through better than expected, though the  _ Gravestone _ ’s hiccup at the height of the battle had cost them a few ships. It could have been far worse, but ships were valuable resources that tended to be difficult for Sethali to replace at this juncture.

Setting down the datapad, Sethali finished off her caf and went to see if the sun had risen yet and she could reasonably seek out Admiral Aygo to start going over defenses. She knew she ought to stop by the infirmary, as well, to check on those wounded in the fight, but Lord Kahla had things in hand well enough there.

“I didn’t expect I’d see you up this early.” Lana’s voice shook Sethali out of her thoughtful trance, and she shook her head slightly.

“Couldn’t stay asleep.” Sethali brandished her datapad like a pass to be awake earlier than the rest of the base. “I was looking over the damage reports. Have you seen Admiral Aygo yet?” Sethali had a belated thought of something else that needed addressing. “Or Theron? I’d like to see about bolstering our network security.”

“Way ahead of you, Commander.” both Sethali and Lana turned at Theron’s voice as he came into the war room as well. “In fact, I’ve been spending most of the past few days working on it.”

Sethali didn’t ask if he’d slept. She knew the answer already. Instead, she said, “There’s caf in my quarters.”

“Read my mind, Seth.” the nickname had taken time to take root again after the five years the group had been apart, but their friendly rapport, thankfully, had not. It was a relief to hear it again, to hear it more often, to know that she was still more than just the  _ Commander _ to someone.

“Sethali, while I’ve got you,” Lana paused and leaned against the war room’s holoprojector table, “Koth did mention the  _ Gravestone _ is still grounded for now while he and Tora ensure the omni-cannon is up and functional. We don’t know if SCORPIO intends to target Odessen, but--”

“I understand.” Sethali pursed her lips and ran a pale green-gold hand over her face, over the geometric tattoos covering her cheeks, and she thought.

Having the  _ Gravestone _ out of the picture for the time being made them much more vulnerable, and only intensified her need to get up and talk to Aygo about Odessen’s defenses. Just as Sethali was preparing to rise to her feet and do just that, the time of day--or night--be damned, a nearby console exploded into static just as Theron re-emerged with a fresh cup of the caf Sethali had brewed earlier.

The caf went flying, and Sethali and Theron both reached the console at the same time, Sethali leaning anxiously over Theron’s shoulder while he frantically tried to learn what had just happened.

“That wasn’t a power surge, was it?” they were still sorting out which generators had been overloaded in the past few weeks, and which ones were simply old and needed repairs, but this was far too specific to be one of those fluctuations, and everyone in the room seemed to know it.

“No, it’s--” Theron began, but didn’t get the chance to finish. The voice that interrupted told Sethali everything she needed to know.

“I trust you haven’t forgotten me.”

It was the same thing she’d said before the battle began, before telling them she’d handed Arcann their location on a silver platter, before everything had fallen apart. Sethali’s jaw tightened. “What do you want, SCORPIO?”

Even during their days dismantling the Star Cabal, Sethali had known SCORPIO’s loyalty to her was flimsy at best, but the sting of her betrayal was still there, annoyingly insistent.

“Consider this a gift for allowing the fleet to remain under my control.” Sethali didn’t believe for a moment the information SCORPIO was about to provide was being provided solely for generosity’s sake, and SCORPIO had to know Sethali knew that. For all the droid’s flaws, she was too smart not to know.

“You wouldn’t be telling me anything unless you got something out of it.” Sethali folded her arms tightly and felt both Lana and Theron join her at the table.

“I have what I want.” SCORPIO replied calmly. “I have the fleet. But there is still something  _ you _ want: the location of the remaining members of Zakuul’s royal family.”

Sethali exchanged a glance between her two advisors; Lana’s lip twisted skeptically, but Theron looked interested. “May as well hear her out.”

“Senya Tirall piloted the shuttle from Arcann’s flagship to the planet Voss, accompanied by the High Justice.” SCORPIO, apparently satisfied they were paying attention, continued, “It seems likely they will attempt to avoid detection by hiding on a neutral world.”

Sethali blinked, and several thoughts raced through her head all at once, ultimately culminating on what SCORPIO gained from divulging this. The answer came to her in a split second, almost glaringly obvious: for whatever reason SCORPIO had wanted control of the fleet, she would want to keep it out of either Arcann or Vaylin’s hands until her purpose had been achieved.

“I see.” was all Sethali said in response. “I’ll follow up as I see fit, SCORPIO, and I...thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“I hope it serves you well, Commander.” and the connection cut abruptly off, the image of SCORPIO on the Eternal Throne vanishing from the holoprojector. Sethali sighed deeply.

“Well.” Theron spoke first. “That was...interesting. You figure she’s trying to kill two birds with one stone again?”

“We can’t risk following her leads without some kind of verification.” Lana pointed out. “If this is a ploy to draw us away from Odessen in preparation for further attacks, we’d be falling right into it.”

“She wants to keep the throne in her hands for now.” Sethali said flatly. “Sending us to chase down Arcann and Senya and Vaylin means all the people who currently might want her off the throne would be preoccupied. It’s definitely part of a larger plan, but we can’t pass up this opportunity.” Pulling up a projection of Voss’ current status on the war table, Sethali continued, “If the  _ Gravestone _ can’t get us there, we’ll need a different shuttle to reach Voss.”

“There’s several undamaged vessels in the main hangar, and multiple Alliance warships still in service.” Lana said, with a small degree of hesitation. “We can see that at least one is prepared for departure within the day.”

“Good.” Sethali pressed a key and the projection of Voss’ current status disappeared. “I don’t want to risk letting them slip away again.”

“Because you want to silence them?” Lana asked. “Or because you want to hear what they have to say?”

“Whether I want to silence them will depend almost entirely on what they have to say.” Sethali replied, unfazed. “So we’ll just see, won’t we?”

She felt their eyes on her as she went to fetch her gear, but ignored the feeling it gave her, that same prickling in the back of her neck that told her she was being watched.

Whatever happened on Voss, Sethali had a feeling the galaxy would in fact be watching  _ very _ closely for what came next.

* * *

 

 

It was far too easy for Vaylin to get bored here.

Their achingly slow journey to the Shrine of Healing was punctuated only by the wildlife, which often got too curious for Vaylin’s liking. In a way, she was grateful for the outlet. Anger was easier than confusion. Lashing out was easier than relenting, than receding. It was familiar.

In all the ways her life had been upended in these past few days, familiar was enough.

For the most part, she drew away from her mother and Arcann as they followed her on the paths up the mountain, a literal and seemingly metaphorical divide. Senya had come back to save Arcann--had said she wanted to save  _ him _ .

It hadn’t been for her. It had  _ never _ been for her. There was so little reason for Vaylin to believe differently now, no matter some small, sequestered part of her  _ wanted _ to believe it.

She squashed that part of her flat, for now, and cast her gaze around the rock outcrops down the path. The imposing and solemn entrance to what had to be the Shrine of Healing was within sight, within reach. She supposed that was good news. As good as she could hope for.

As Vaylin turned over her shoulder to... _ encourage _ her family to pick up their pace and hurry before their approach garnered attention, she saw a small group of warships drop out of hyperspace, combined Republic and Imperial classifications.

Once, not all that long ago, Vaylin would have said that their arrival would make things infinitely more interesting, perhaps even fun. Now, it made something like annoyance stir in her chest, though she still didn’t know  _ why _ .

“Well, if we’re going to attempt this charade,” Vaylin said as Senya and Arcann--still just barely awake--caught up with her, “we’d best do it in a hurry.” Pointing at the Alliance ships that had just arrived, Vaylin finished, in a vaguely sinister but still grim sing-song tone, “Someone’s not happy we’re here.”

Senya looked over her shoulder and the remaining color drained from her face. “The Alliance.” her voice was calm, but the sudden tension in her shoulders revealed the truth. On her face was renewed determination, though, and Vaylin’s gut twisted with something like bitter regret. “Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

There weren’t many situations that made Sethali truly nervous, but riding on a shuttle from one of the Alliance’s remaining warships down to Voss’ surface in search of what remained of Zakuul’s royal family ranked somewhere near the top of her very short list.

Mostly, what made Sethali’s gut churn were the unknowns. She had proven adept time and again during her days with Intelligence that she was often more capable of improvisation than she gave herself credit for, but the war with Zakuul had brought new challenges, and Sethali had to acquire new perspectives to compensate. She’d missed out on five years of it, after all.

Watching the golden fields flash below them, perilously close while they waited to hear from Theron if Senya, Arcann, or Vaylin had been seen anywhere near Voss-Ka, Sethali was suddenly and unexpectedly reminded of the last time she’d been to this world. Newly-healing from the conditioning that had shattered her mind, racing against time and a seemingly omnipresent foe, more potent than the Sith or Republic had ever been on their own simply because of their  _ knowledge _ .

And she had gotten married here. A strange thing to think about, but with a wry and somehow bitter twist of her lip, Sethali mused that the arranged “marriage” between her and Phi-Ton was the closest someone like her would ever come to having that kind of connection for real.

It was no less than she deserved. And it wasn’t as though she had a great deal of time for family life anyway, with her current career prospects.

Sethali touched the scanner mounted to her ear, projecting a holographic targeting aid over her bad eye, linking her comm channel to Theron’s. “I don’t suppose you have anything yet.”

“Nothing solid, nothing worth sending you chasing after.” came the near-instant response. “Let you know when I have something.”

With a frustrated breath, Sethali cut the channel and returned to her seat in the shuttle’s bay as it continued to loosely circle the area around Voss-Ka. “May as well set it down,” she told the pilot reluctantly, “until we know where we’re going.”

Sethali ordered the shuttle set down someplace out of the way, and now sat with her legs stretched out against a boulder, taking in the vaguely familiar scenery and chasing away the lingering trails of nostalgia that threatened to wrap around her thoughts.

Voss-Ka looked much as Sethali remembered it--the same towering, cylindrical buildings rose high up from the golden fields and rocky outcrops, marked occasionally by trees with vibrant red leaves, floating serenely down with the currents of the wind.

It was almost peaceful, but the reason for her visit was enough to ensure a thin, unbreakable line of tension remained in her shoulders.

The sound of her holocom going off broke the brief feeling of calm surrounding the shuttle’s landing zone, and Sethali turned halfway over on her side to grab it from where it was attached to her belt. Lord Kahla’s image sprang up from it, and even by holo, Sethali could see the dark marks under her eyes from exhaustion--or stress. At this point, Sethali wasn’t certain it even made a difference.

With the additional wrinkling on her dark brown-and-white patterned lekku and montrals and the lines around her eyes and mouth, anyone could tell Lord Kahla had seen her share of battlefields and long odds during her time as a Dark Lord on the Council--a contradictory title for the open and earnest Sith lord--and her reputation preceded her, but her mouth was a far thinner line today than Sethali was normally accustomed to seeing it. Sethali frowned in return. “What’s going on, Kahla?”

Kahla shifted her weight and folded her arms. “I can sense Senya.” she said flatly, without preamble, also a deviation from her typical demeanor, and Sethali’s heart twisted. “She’s outside Voss-Ka, but I have yet to determine where.”

“Did Lana ask you to do that?” Sethali hadn’t explicitly forbidden having Kahla search for Senya through their tentative Force-bond, but hadn’t known the kind of toll it would take on their only healer of significant power--nor had she known the strength of the tie between the togruta lord and rogue Knight.

“No. She didn’t have to. I can sense her regardless if I try.” some of Kahla’s composure wavered at that, but with a sharp intake of breath, her expression settled again. “I wanted you to be aware in case you were searching inside the city proper.”

“We weren’t, but I appreciate the heads-up.” Sethali hesitated, drumming her fingers against her thigh absently. “Kahla, I...”

She trailed off, but Kahla waited patiently, and in the end Sethali only said, “Just keep me apprised of matters.”

“I will.” Kahla seemed to know that wasn’t what Sethali originally intended to say, but didn’t press the issue. “Lord Castor and the Wrath had something for you as well--they’re in Voss-Ka at the moment if you wanted to speak face-to-face.”

Sethali got the subtle hint in that, well aware that it was SCORPIO’s influence that had brought them here--she wouldn’t put it past the conniving droid to be monitoring her damned holocom. There was no evidence of the Eternal Fleet here yet, but the last thing Sethali wanted to do was take that kind of chance. Plus, haunting the shuttle like some kind of paranoid apparition was sure to accomplish nothing but maintaining Sethali’s current stress level.

“I’ll meet them.” Sethali glanced briefly back at the shuttle, thinking how she might secure or conceal it. “Where are they?”

“I’ll send you the coordinates.” Sethali’s scanner blipped with the recorded position data, and she mentally began to plot the route out. “Good luck, Commander.”

Even after all this time, it was still unusual for Sethali to have Sith lords reporting to  _ her _ , instead of the other way around, and a former Dark Councilor, no less. To say nothing of the former Emperor’s Wrath and his right hand, who apparently had a report for her that was too sensitive to be delivered over holocom.

Securing the shuttle, and warning the pilot to be on the lookout for unfriendly wildlife or--stars forbid--contact from the Eternal Fleet, Sethali set out for Voss-Ka, and made good time to the merchant district, where the Lord Wrath and Lord Castor were waiting.

An otherworldly prickling on the back of her neck heralded Valkorion’s imminent interruption, and Sethali gritted her teeth as the feeling abruptly vanished. It was hardly like him to merely threaten his appearance, instead of following through. Perhaps it was the errant thought of his former Wrath that had briefly summoned him.

Though, considering what she knew about him--and Lord Castor--they likely hadn’t been in the former Emperor’s good graces for long.

In Voss-Ka proper, Sethali found her footsteps slowing and then stopping just at the junction where the landing zones merged into the merchant district for the Empire and Republic. The presence of both factions didn’t disturb her--minimal resources had been committed here in the wake of the Eternal Empire’s campaign in the Core Worlds.

No, annoyingly enough, what had stopped her approach to the merchant district were those persistent and infuriating coils of nostalgia, a loss she shouldn’t have felt, for something that never even  _ was _ .

‘BAS-TON’S TEAHOUSE’ was still emblazoned on the sign outside, though the shop’s old owner was years dead by now. Sethali found one foot taking a step in the shop’s direction before she sharply redirected the motion towards the coordinates Kahla had forwarded her.

_ Not for you, _ she reminded herself fiercely.  _ Never for you. _

* * *

“She’s late.” Lord Cassaire Castor remarked, leaned idly against a nondescript building in the merchant area of Voss-Ka’s alien enclave.

“To be fair,” the former Lord Wrath countered, “we didn’t say the Commander had to be here by a set time.”

Lord Castor huffed and folded her arms. “You don’t think the fact this information was too sensitive to be shared by holo would have gotten her moving?”

“Relax, Cass. Or try, I suppose.”

“Yuhanos, I don’t think I’m physically capable of relaxation at the moment.” she tried not to sound exasperated, really, she did. “I don’t see how you are.”

“I didn’t say I was.” he admitted, and they lapsed into a comfortable, companionable silence.

Yuhanos and Cassaire both were outfitted in something much less noticeable than their usual armor--she hesitated to call it  _ casual _ , but she supposed it was the closest they got these days. Standing at least a head taller than her, Yuhanos’ height and stature alone would have been enough to discourage curious bystanders, but add to that the piercing red eyes characteristic of the chiss and his short, buzzed blue hair, and he and Cassaire might as well have been unapproachable entirely, no matter how casual their attire.

Cassaire, for her part, was almost never challenged to look  _ non _ -threatening, but rose to it well enough. She felt bare without her typical plates of armor, but the ornamental metal ‘wings’ on the back would have been far too easily identified, even out here.

She might yet be called to use it, stored in a crate on the shuttle she and Yuhanos had flown here from one of the Alliance fleet’s ships, but she knew shouldn’t be looking forward to the possibility.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Yuhanos asked, nonchalantly keeping an eye out for the Commander at one side of the enclave.

Reminded she was supposed to be looking out, herself, Cassaire glanced down the other direction before looking at her boots instead. “Nothing worth sharing.”

Yuhanos made a vague noise of disagreement, and Cassaire relented. After knowing each other for this long, there was little point.

“How did we end up here?” Cassaire hated how dramatic the question sounded, but hated how her subdued tone betrayed her uncertainty even more.

There was a moment of quiet, presumably while Yuhanos thought. “By shuttle,” he joked weakly, but it made Cassaire smile as she shoved him in the shoulder, which lightened the atmosphere around them considerably.

“You know what I mean.” Cassaire’s grin lingered for only a brief moment, but she treasured it anyway. “The Council fell apart, piece by piece, then it was just a few, and then...” she trailed off, shook her head, and continued, “...when we fled--”

She broke off again, and Yuhanos was silent. She had never spoken of the details of the Hand’s flight from the Empire, and how their numbers had been forced to split up to survive, leaving Cassaire at the mercy of the newly-crowned Empress Acina, not even to Yuhanos, but the implications were enough. Before they had both found their way to the Alliance, Cassaire had wondered if she was doomed, once again, to be alone in this galaxy.

“I can’t help but feel like we’re running away.” she finished, flatly. “It feels like we failed.”

“Failed to do what, exactly?” she wasn’t looking at him, but she could almost  _ feel _ his raised brow. “We never got very far with a specific goal, if I recall.”

“We promised to bring change.” Cassaire said quietly. “We promised to make things  _ better _ . Now we’re all but disowned by the Empire we were going to save.”

“I want to think we’re still bringing change.” Yuhanos commented. “Just not the way we planned it, perhaps.”

Cassaire raked one hand’s fingers through her short red locks, combing them messily off her forehead. “Perhaps.” she said, though she didn’t know if she believed it. “I don’t regret what we tried to do, but calling it the Wrath’s Hand might have been a little ambitious of us.”

“People were starting to come around, before all this.” Yuhanos pointed out. “Those who didn’t call us heretics, at least.”

“There weren’t many heresy accusations after Ziost.” Cassaire replied dryly, in that kind of dark humor that wasn’t truly funny at all, but it was the truth nonetheless. The general opinion of the Wrath’s Hand had skyrocketed after the devastation of Ziost as the people looked to a new guiding force to face their former Emperor. If things had gone according to plan, both she and Yuhanos might have gotten the ultimate poetic justice--destroying the Emperor who had made them his weapons.

But, in all her life up to now, even this moment, things had rarely gone according to plan. It was an eventuality Cassaire was accustomed to, but didn’t appreciate.

“There.” Yuhanos pointed, and Cassaire straightened as the Commander came into view--it’d be hard to mistake her for anyone else. There weren’t many Mirialans on Voss, even fewer armored and armed to the teeth.

“What’s going on?” Sethali was brisk, but Cassaire could appreciate that, things being as they were. It would have been worse, somehow, if Sethali could sense the conflict in either of them. It wouldn’t be the first time she was grateful Sethali wasn’t Force-sensitive.

“We found what we believe to be the shuttle Senya flew here from Arcann’s flagship.” Yuhanos reported first. “And we think we know where they’re going.”

“The Shrine of Healing.” Cassaire interjected. “There were notes in the ship’s log, likely made by Senya.”

Sethali let out a breath as she reached for her holocom, already putting a code in. “Of course,” she whispered as she waited for the call’s recipient to pick up. “If she wanted to heal Arcann--from his injuries or otherwise--they’d be most likely to not pass judgment on  _ who _ they were healing. I wonder how Senya knew to come here, though.”

Kahla’s image appeared from Sethali’s holocom. “Commander?”

“Kahla, rendezvous with myself, Lord Castor, and the Lord Wrath at the Shrine of Healing.” Sethali ordered. “We have to catch up to them before they escape the planet.”

As the Commander walked briskly away, tailed by both Sith lords, Yuhanos arched a brow at Cassaire. “Figure it’ll be according to plan?” he asked.

Cassaire snorted. “Doubtful.”

* * *

 

 

“The Outlander spoke to me,” Arcann said suddenly, “when we fought aboard the flagship.”

Vaylin looked up. It was the first thing he’d said that had to have been directed at her, since Mother was in the shrine itself, seeing who might know whatever kind of ritual they happened to be looking for. Vaylin hadn’t asked, and while she was curious, she wasn’t curious enough to ask  _ her _ .

“Hmm.” Vaylin replied noncommittally. “So she’s a chatty type.”

“No.” the response was firm, but not as harsh as it might have been only a week ago. “Not idle chatter. She claimed Father was not influencing her. That she didn’t want to fight.”

Vaylin poked at one of the tender, healing wounds on Arcann’s arm, a blaster burn. “Hmm,” she said again as he hissed faintly with pain, “ _ awfully _ aggressive for someone who didn’t want to fight. She’s still nothing but Father’s pawn.”

He didn’t respond, but Vaylin could nearly feel the sullen silence as though it was a tangible fog in the air around them. It didn’t fade when Mother returned. If anything, Vaylin’s sour mood intensified it.

She didn’t need to say it, knew that everyone present would sense him as strongly as she, but couldn’t keep her lip from twisting as the sense her father was here, chasing them, tailed them like a shadow that vanished as soon as Vaylin looked over her shoulder. If she could sense him, the Outlander was here. How close, she couldn’t say, but didn’t need to--the fact she could sense him at all was enough to put more urgency in their steps.

They rounded the corner, and Vaylin nearly ran into her mother and Arcann, who had stopped abruptly, without warning.

A lone figure stood in the hallway beyond, togruta, robed in black, her brown lekku, wrinkled slightly with age, draping over the dramatic shoulder pieces. These were the things Vaylin could observe by sight in an instant, but what grabbed her  _ immediate _ attention was Mother’s reaction to her presence. Regret, hope, and surprise all warred for control, but the imminent maelstrom of emotion was quieted long enough for her to quietly say, “Kahla.”

The togruta woman--Kahla, Vaylin supposed--folded her arms and said nothing at first. Vaylin had to focus only for a few seconds to sense the Force bond that had started to form between the two.

Jealousy, hot and piercing, tightened her chest, and Vaylin’s jaw clenched tightly enough she was half-afraid her teeth might crack. Just as quickly, she wanted to squelch the feeling, but couldn’t quite manage it. There was nothing going on here she should have felt jealous of.

But there  _ was _ an unspoken conversation going on here--between her mother and whoever this  _ Kahla _ was--that set Vaylin on edge even as she sensed Father approaching, closer still, but still impossible to pinpoint.

“I’m glad I caught you.” Kahla finally said, but the words did nothing to put Vaylin at ease. “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it.”

“Why?” Vaylin finally snapped. “Come to finish us off, have you?”

“No.” the line of tension between Kahla’s brows deepened. “We came to help.”

Vaylin registered the sentence just as movement at her back made her whip around to see the Outlander, flanked by the former Wrath and Lord Castor, approaching at a brisk pace. Vaylin drew her lightsaber and activated it in one swift motion, lighting the hall up in harsh golden light. “You stalled us!” she accused Kahla, and the ambient tension in the room skyrocketed.

Vaylin didn’t care. It was familiar. That was enough.

“But she  _ did _ tell the truth.” the last thing Vaylin wanted was to acknowledge the Outlander-- _ Father’s pawn _ \--but she’d spoken, and it was impossible now. “I hope.”

“Commander.” Senya turned to face the Outlander next, but Vaylin continued to keep one eye on Kahla, waiting to see if this really was an elaborate attempt to take them by surprise. “Please, just--”

“I know why you’ve probably come here, Senya.” the Outlander folded her arms, tense with lean strength. “I just want to know  _ how _ you knew to come here at all.”

“It was likely my doing.” Kahla spoke again, and all eyes turned to her. “I spoke at length about my studies on Voss as a younger lord, and later confided in Senya about my time with Darth Imperius, before her ascent to the Council.” Kahla’s gaze was even when it landed on Senya again, but Vaylin could feel the minute withdrawal, the slightest flinch, before her mother smoothed it back down again. “Voss has many rituals for healing. Among them a ritual for helping to heal the mind. To the best of my knowledge, it has only ever been performed by Force-walkers.”

“This isn’t the ritual of mind-healing.” Vaylin found herself paying slightly more attention as Senya continued. “Not the kind your Darth Imperius used, at least. But it  _ is _ similar. Also not forbidden.”

“You told me Arcann still had the capacity for good in him.” the Outlander rested her weight on one hip, but one hand was close enough to the blaster pistol strapped to the same thigh for Vaylin to raise her guard further. “But I have yet to hear about any of this being his choice. That makes all the difference.”

Vaylin wasn’t the only one taken aback. Almost everyone whose emotions Vaylin could directly sense--barring Kahla--was at least faintly surprised.

Arcann himself, fortunately, was the first to recover and respond. “Vengeance has taken me nowhere--here, weakened. Injured. I am...ready, to be done with it.”

Something in the Outlander’s face shifted. It didn’t soften, or harden, or turn colder or warmer, but Vaylin felt something shift on an infinite fault line, and a collective sigh was released from the room. Whether it was one of relief or apprehension was anyone’s guess.

“If that’s truly the case,” the Outlander said at last, “then my earlier statement stands. We came to help.”

“You’re nothing but a pawn.” Vaylin found her voice again, and scoffed. “Why should we believe you?”

“No one controls me.” the Outlander retorted sharply, her lip twisting and her composure slipping long enough for Vaylin to feel the weight of the words. “Never again.”

Silence fell, and Vaylin’s lightsaber hummed idly, ready to be turned towards the target of her choosing, when she chose it.

She had to concede the Outlander  _ was _ right about one thing. Choice  _ did _ make all the difference.

With a long-suffering sigh, Vaylin returned her lightsaber to her belt, and said, “Well, if you want to continue draining every bit of fun out of this, so be it.”

The Outlander’s people visibly relaxed, and the Outlander herself let her hand drift farther away from her blaster pistol--Vaylin was satisfied, at least, her instincts regarding the Outlander’s true intent behind her shift in posture were correct.

It was a small bright point in the ever-confusing  _ mess _ her life had turned into during the past week, but by now, Vaylin reluctantly admitted she would likely have to take her victories for what they were, no matter how small.

The Voss healers briskly instructed them, and Vaylin found herself pushed somewhat to the side, along with the Outlander’s squad. All of them were strong in the Force--Vaylin could sense that easily enough--but she was confident that she could kill them all without relative difficulty should the need arise.

Her fingers twitched by her lightsaber, and the healers began.

Mother had, just once, asked Vaylin if such a ritual might be something she was interested in attempting herself, but Vaylin had coldly shut the question down. There had been enough meddling in her head. The last thing she wanted was to subject herself to these healers, people whose methods of wielding the Force were completely unfamiliar and thus unpredictable.

She stood by her decision now as she felt the Force energies in the room stutter, the flow interrupted by...something. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary--

Vaylin watched the Outlander tense in the same instant, and the scene took on a dream-like quality as Vaylin watched a ghostly image of her father emerge, speaking to the Outlander urgently, perhaps even impatiently, and she found herself drawing closer to listen. No one else seemed aware of the conversation happening.

_ “...unforeseeable consequences.”  _ Vaylin got close enough to hear her father say.  _ “You put everything at risk with this foolish gamble.” _

_ “Maybe,” _ the Outlander shot back,  _ “but that’s my choice to make.” _

Abruptly, her father vanished, and Vaylin watched the Outlander shake her head, resting her forehead in the palm of one hand with a slight grimace.

“Something has happened.” one of the Voss healers opened her eyes, shocked, horrified. “There was...a disruption. The ritual was broken.”

“Broken?” Senya’s voice was unchanged, but there was a minute tremor in her hands as they clenched into fists. “What does that mean? Can you heal him?”

“We would need a significant amount of energy--” the Voss healer began.

“Take what you need. Draw on mine.  _ Please _ .” Senya was near to begging now, and Vaylin’s jaw tightened again, the joint sore from repeated strain over the past few days.

“And mine.” Kahla stepped forward as well, and all eyes turned to them.

“You don’t have--” Senya tried to interject, but Kahla spoke instead.

“I was once among the most powerful Force healers in the Empire, and I studied on Voss for years.” Kahla’s gaze and voice were resolute. “There is no one better suited to helping here, now.”

There was a beat of quiet. “Begin.” the Voss healer said at last, subdued and quiet.

 

* * *

 

Kahla had long prided herself on her lack of recklessness.

Many seemed to think it a prerequisite for being Sith, and based on overwhelming evidence, Kahla couldn’t deny it was a common characteristic of her former fellows. She had not survived as a lord of the Empire, however, later a Dark Lord, without knowing when the right time to be reckless was, for the most part. She was not immune to poor judgment.

Recklessness was another tool to be used, as much as the lightsaber at her hip and the Force lightning she could summon from her fingers. It was a heavy-handed one, but Kahla had taught herself to apply it cautiously.

Her pride, however, was the least of what she could lose today if she didn’t do  _ something _ .

The anxious rush of blood in her veins demanded action, even as her feet were planted solidly on the stone floor of the Shrine of Healing, and she attempted to scold her frayed nerves back into submission, to little avail.

She was well aware that on a battlefield, as well as off it, her function was to heal, to mend, to repair. Stemming blood and spraying kolto were one thing, but the Force was a powerful tool to heal wounds physical and otherwise, and while Kahla had always been skilled at both, this was a challenge beyond the scope of any challenge before now.

Her racing heart and apprehensive rush of blood through her body demanded action, and Kahla was just as prepared to face the consequences for those actions as the Commander had been. She knew this ritual, knew what had to happen in order for the same amount of power to be built up again, and accepted it.

This wasn’t a guaranteed death sentence, not precisely, but Kahla would have wanted at least one more skilled healer here to shoulder some of the burden of this much power being expended in such a short amount of time. As it was, they’d have to make do with the group here, though Kahla felt the backlash rising up, measured it, measured how much each healer could take before buckling.

Kahla didn’t care anymore if it was reckless. It was right.

She bowed her head, drew on her strength, and let it flow.

“It’s working.” Kahla heard Lord Castor’s voice, as though from underwater--her trance was so deep she was barely aware of anything beyond this ritual, this patch of stone flooring her feet stood on.

There was a flash, and Kahla felt her knees buckle beneath her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuhanos Valerion belongs to dawnofakatosh on tumblr, who was kind enough to let me borrow him for this fic--he and Cassaire, my Sith warrior, were both apprentices of Darth Baras, though only Yuhanos became the Wrath.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_ Snow had come early to House Castor that year. _

_ It came fast and quiet in the night, an unintentional parallel for the weapon Cassaire would be forged into one day, sooner rather than later. She remembered being delighted by it, and back then, she had been young enough her parents could not deny her the brief joy of experiencing its chill firsthand. _

_ Cassaire saw it clearly in her mind’s eye, though it had taken place over two decades before. She watched as though she was an outside observer, with her own memories played back for her perusal like a nostalgic holovid. _

_ She’d been nine that year. Four years before she was sent to House Rist. Old enough she was taught to be stately and polite. Old enough she’d begun to pick up how to use her words as their own kind of weapon. It was a skill long cultivated in Alderaanian nobility, and best learned from childhood, particularly for someone like her, coming from the house she did. _

_ But that day, she hadn’t been a stately girl with everything to prove. She’d been dashing out the door into the snow, trailed by her parents’ and handmaidens’ indignant shouts as snow melted in her hair, some of the flakes sticking stubbornly to the strands until she batted them away gleefully. _

_ She hadn’t gone inside until her fingertips turned nearly blue. _

_ Cassaire didn’t know why she remembered the event as strongly as she did. Perhaps it was the last time she’d felt so open or free. Perhaps it was the last time she’d felt like a girl, still able to create fun for herself out of whimsical, simple things. _

_ Perhaps it was simply the most poignant reminder that there had once been a time the weight of an Empire didn’t rest on her shoulders, albeit a distant one. _

_ “Cass!” _

_ A voice, distant and somehow piercing, shook her free of illusions. No one from that life had ever called her that. _

_ “Cass, wake up--we have to hurry.” _

 

Consciousness didn’t come gently to her, but it rarely did these days. Most of the time, she was at least aware she’d fallen under, but this time had no recollection of anything except the healing ritual on Voss, a backlash of energy...

Brown eyes opened to the familiar blue-skinned face, pinched with worry and something that smacked of urgency, that belonged to Yuhanos, and from there she put things together easily enough.

“What happened?” she rasped, quickly bracing her hands underneath her upper body, trying to sit up.

“Something happened to Lord Kahla and Senya.” Yuhanos’ glance was quick but no less concerned. “The energy backfire knocked everyone out. Arcann is gone.”

Gaze whipping over to where the Voss healers had been focusing their healing powers on the former emperor, she found an empty bed, and the rest of their compatriots in various states of semi-consciousness, slowly coming to. She felt alert, though her hands and feet still tingled like they’d fallen asleep, and her thoughts drifted slowly and uncertainly through her head, like they were trying to find their way through a fog.

“I’ll find him.” Cassaire looked back, and shook her head sharply, hoping to dislodge the last of her faint dizziness. “Get the others sorted out.”

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Yuhanos scowled.

“We don’t have time to debate the matter.” Cassaire was already on her feet, drumming her heel anxiously into the stone. “We don’t know that the ritual worked, and if it didn’t...”

She didn’t finish her thought, but didn’t need to. Neither of them relished the possibility. Yuhanos still looked vaguely queasy, and Cassaire didn’t feel much better, but the worst of the fog was already clearing from her head, and she was too apprehensive to wait.

“Go.” he finally said. “Be  _ careful _ .”

Ordinarily, she might have quipped back  _ “When am I not?” _ but now, the situation seemed too tense for it, too precarious. Cassaire turned, and took to her heels.

The cloister passages were the only ones still readily open, so Cassaire followed them down winding turns and long corridors, lit in pale, almost sickly green. The last time she’d been on Voss, it was in the Dark Heart, hunting the Emperor’s former Voice. Even the lightning in the passages was similar. Her heart rate hiked up a few paces as she tore around another corner, and saw light.

The shuttle Kahla had flown here to arrive before Sethali’s group sat squarely in the middle of the courtyard, engines still idling in preparation for a speedy escape. Cassaire cursed the irony she wasn’t very appreciative of Kahla’s tendency to over-prepare right at the moment.

There, approaching the shuttle at an unsteady half-jog, however, was Arcann, and Cassaire put a new burst of speed into her stride, measuring her breaths as her left foot struck the ground. Either he sensed her, or she was simply making far too much noise to ignore, but Arcann looked over his shoulder briefly before trying to lurch forward with a new burst of speed himself.

_ “Arcann!” _ Cassaire managed to shout, slightly breathless from her sprint.

He paused again, and this time turned to watch her approach more carefully. The one eye that Cassaire could see--the one not obscured by his mask--was a pale blue-gray. Relief made some of the tension melt out of Cassaire’s shoulders, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe she was out of the woods yet. She still had to convince him to come back.

“Your mother and sister are back in the healing chamber.” Cassaire lowered her hands and made it clear she wasn’t going for the lightsaber at her hip. “The Commander will want to help them. And you.”

Behind the mask, it was difficult for Cassaire to tell the expression that overtook Arcann’s face, but there was a wrinkling around his visible eye that suggested a deep anguish, an even deeper shame, and she didn’t have to see his face to sense the suspicion slowly churning just under the surface.

“I will not face the Outlander.” he finally said as he turned and once again headed for Kahla’s shuttle. “Not yet.”

Cassaire cursed, turned over her shoulder, and saw Yuhanos and the Commander herself pelting around the corner, but they were too far away to help her now.

She looked back at the shuttle, and made a choice.

Taking off again, this time with the aid of the Force to speed her steps, Cassaire took a flying leap into the shuttle’s bay just as it rose off the ground. Her landing unbalanced the ship’s takeoff, and Arcann in the pilot’s chair was nothing short of shocked.

“What are you doing?” he demanded even as he attempted to keep the ship under control with the use of only one arm--his prosthetic was still mostly destroyed.

“Keeping you from getting yourself killed.” Cassaire snapped as she stalked into the pilot’s cabin and tapped the communications key, stabilizing the shuttle’s pitch with her other hand.

“I  _ don’t _ need your--”

“If you’re about to say ‘I don’t need your help’, I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you of the Alliance ships in orbit.” Cassaire jabbed a finger angrily out the shuttle’s front viewport, where Voss’ sky was starting to turn deep indigo, scattered with stars--and littered with Alliance vessels. “Do you think it’s coincidence their guns haven’t even turned to lock onto us?”

Arcann narrowed his eyes at her and didn’t respond as the communications console finally flickered to life after locking onto the Commander’s link to the fleet. They began listening in the middle of a heated argument.

“--do you  _ mean _ we’re supposed to stand down?!”

“Lord Castor is aboard the ship as well--we  _ cannot _ risk firing on it with both of them aboard. Stand down. That’s an order, and that is  _ final _ .”

The second voice was Sethali’s, and Cassaire let out a faint breath, cutting the connection, leaving only heavy silence behind. Neither she nor Arcann spoke as the ship soared further towards the edges of the Voss system.

_ What had she done? _

The magnitude of her choice slammed into her with all the force of an Imperial dreadnought, and Cassaire sagged against the wall, letting out another breath, this time of shock and disbelief. She’d well and truly messed things up this time. She didn’t know what had possessed her to do this, when Yuhanos and the Commander and the rest of whatever remained of her family was down there, on Voss, not here, millions of miles away from its surface. She didn’t even know what they were supposed to do now. All she knew was that standing idly by, even in that split second of indecision, was unacceptable.

A dethroned emperor and an exiled lord, she thought bitterly. What a pair they made.

True to her luck so far, Arcann asked the one thing Cassaire couldn’t answer, breaking their brittle silence. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” she answered flatly, the only answer she could give with any degree of honesty. “I don’t know.” After another beat of quiet, Cassaire asked, “Where are we going?”

Arcann stiffened, like that was the one question  _ he _ couldn’t answer. “I don’t know.” he finally replied brusquely.

It was almost funny, but Cassaire couldn’t find it within herself to laugh at the moment. She had leaped into a moving shuttle without knowing why, he had piloted this shuttle without knowing where to go.

Cassaire let out a breath, and let her thoughts settle. First things first. “Wherever we’re going, we need supplies.”

“ _ We _ need supplies, do we?”

“If you think you’re dropping me off at the first port we come across--” Cassaire warned.

“ _ Why _ are you here?” Arcann demanded again, this time more wearily.

Cassaire paused and thought about a suitable explanation. “Because the Alliance will need our help.” she eventually responded, and hated how empty it sounded.

She didn’t need a verbal response to know he wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have to convince him of anything yet--except their necessity for supplies.

“I have no intention of standing against the Alliance.” came the petulant statement at last. “You have no need to remain here.”

“Just because you don’t stand against us doesn’t mean you’re standing for us.” Cassaire pointed out. “Not yet, at least. And if you won’t face Sethali yet, we’ll need to plan for something else.”

“Then where do you suggest we’ll find what we need?” came the next pointed question, after a beat of tense silence, but Cassaire was unruffled. She rooted around in her pocket for her holocom, scrolling back in her channels until she found one that hadn’t been used in years, encrypted with four individual layers of security that had been tested by Theron many times on Odessen as a personal challenge. Thus far, he hadn’t broken through even two layers of it.

“There’s an old friend I can call.” she said easily, plugging her holocom into the shuttle’s communications console.

 

* * *

 

As Yevari was quickly coming to remember, being a Sith lord on the run was not a glamorous affair.

She’d had her share of it--more than her share, to be quite honest with herself--and while this was staying under the radar on an entirely different scale, much of the principles of it remained the same.

Drifting slowly in the Unknown Regions, the  _ Doombringer _ had been charting a steadily nonsensical course for years now. It was quite tedious, truthfully, and Yevari was glad to leave those particular logistical details to Moff Pyron and his people. She hadn’t been aboard for all that time--the Empire might be a sinking ship, but she still had an obligation to the people aboard, until recently--and had sent Pyron the signal to rendezvous with her personal ship at the edge of Wild Space close to a year ago now, after two years of jumping from planet to planet in what used to be sovereign Imperial space, and another two years of fighting what remained of the Dark Council--and Darth Acina, for Yevari refused to acknowledge her as a true sovereign ruler of the Empire--every step of the way. There was only so much hiding she could do in Imperial space, and she’d gotten wise enough to see when her time was up. Not to mention, there wasn’t really such thing as ‘sovereign’ Imperial space anymore, what with the Eternal Fleet patrolling at random. Rumor held that Acina had surrendered willingly, and the news broadcast from Zakuul shortly after, Emperor Arcann validating her claim, had all but sealed Yevari’s fate.

But, in accordance with what Yevari knew she should have expected, her months aboard the  _ Doombringer _ had proved, in fact,  _ exceedingly _ boring.

Lip curved down in its typical pout, Yevari got up from the couch in her quarters, carelessly throwing the datapad with Moff Pyron’s most recent updates where she’d been sitting a moment before. She rubbed her freckled, tattooed forehead with one hand and wondered if it was too early to pester Ashara out of boredom.

The  _ Doombringer _ was a vessel big enough that Yevari knew she would be sore if she walked every deck end to end--her strengths had never been physical in nature, after all. Fortunately, the room Ashara used for meditation wasn’t far--just one deck below the command deck, and one above engineering--sandwiched in the heart of the ship. The officers she passed by on her way addressed her formally, but Yevari barely raised a hand in acknowledgement as she went, lost in thought.

It felt strange, to be out here, the Empire far behind her, once again on the run for her life. This time the odds were far steeper, but Yevari had never been one to back down from a challenge. Just because she now commanded fleets instead of her meager crew of five didn’t change that.

It  _ was _ a pity about the Wrath’s Hand, but at least there was some consolation to be found in that they were out there...somewhere. Even if Lord Castor’s fate was unknown, she had given everything so the people loyal to the Wrath would survive. It was one of the things Yevari both admired and detested about Lord Castor--about the Wrath’s Hand in general, really--her apparent need to sacrifice everything for the greater good.

Though, knowing Lord Castor, there’d been personal stake in her sacrifice, too. Yevari could understand that.

She’d supported them, almost from the beginning, despite her original reservations, and couldn’t bring herself to regret it, even as it brought her here, all but exiled from the Empire she’d become a prominent part of, by her own choice or otherwise. It was a fight that needed to be fought, even as the galaxy fell apart around them.

Ashara’s meditation chamber was also the room Yevari had stored a small portion of her holocrons in. Ashara didn’t mind having them present and Yevari wanted to keep them as far away from herself as possible, which worked out quite well considering her history with the damned things.

She hadn’t been able to bring all of them with her, sadly: some were from her vaults--the ones whose locations hadn’t been compromised by Acina’ agents--and some were stolen hastily back from her old library during their flight from Kaas City. The important ones--the ones Yevari might actually have killed for in order to keep them out of Acina’s hands--were here, and that was enough.

Inside, it felt almost like a Jedi’s meditation room more than the kind the Sith preferred, but it was tranquil, and Yevari appreciated the warmer, more indirect light the lamps offered here compared to much of the rest of the vessel. In the center of the room, Ashara knelt, three of Yevari’s holocrons--the ones whose wisdom Ashara tended to draw from the most--hovering around her as she focused Force energies around the vaguely pyramid-shaped devices.

Yevari didn’t have to wait long. Ashara let out a breath and slowly moved the holocrons back to their respective holding pillars before rising to her feet.

“Don’t tell me I lost track of time and missed a meal again.” was the first thing out of Ashara’s mouth. It was a common enough problem Yevari wasn’t surprised she asked.

Yevari’s lip quirked up in a half-smile. “No.” she replied simply. “You’ve only been here an hour or so. I was bored. And I missed you.”

Ashara rolled her eyes, but smiled when Yevari slung one slender arm around her waist, walking back to the deck passageways together. “You saw me this morning.”

“So?”

“You see me  _ every day _ .”

“And?”

Ashara made a faint noise of mock exasperation. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Have you seen the others today?” Yevari’s crew tended to spread out across the entirety of the  _ Doombringer _ , much like they had on her personal vessel, but they were granted much more space to stretch their legs, so to speak.

“I saw Zoai creeping around the medical bay a few hours ago.” Ashara frowned slightly. “She said she was trying to ‘absorb Imperial medics’ knowledge through osmosis’.”

Yevari huffed. “That sounds like Zo.”

“Don’t go talking about me behind my back, little sis. You’ll hurt my feelings.” as though summoned by the mere mention of her name, Zoai came sauntering out of a nearby corridor, falling into step easily beside Yevari and Ashara as they walked.

For most intents and appearances, Zoai Kha-Suvra was a disreputable galactic miscreant--her jacket, in dark leather lined with deep red that mirrored the color of her hair, was torn and hastily stitched back together in some places with a careless hand. The burn scarring covering one side of her face, slightly distorting the dramatic and sharp tattoo patterns covering her jaw and bright golden eyes, might have proved intimidating in some circles--it proved she was the product of a difficult and dangerous life, but was still here anyway.

On the two belts, securely fastened around her hips, however, held two of the most important things someone could assume about Zoai from a cursory inspection: one held a well-maintained blaster pistol, and the other a supply of military-grade kolto packs. Zoai had both made and healed an equal number of injuries in her notorious career,

But, for all that, she was still just Yevari’s sister, too. Yevari sniffed. “I didn’t say anything bad. If I  _ really _ wanted to talk about you behind your back, I’d at least make it about something interesting.”

Zoai snorted and rolled her eyes. “Glad to know I can count on that being constant, Yev. You talked to your pet Moff today?”

“No.” Yevari spoke to Moff Pyron at least once a day with a report of the ship’s status and the course they planned to chart the following day. Considering they’d been practically adrift in Wild Space for close to a year now, the course adjustment report was mostly a formality. “I was looking over the preliminary report earlier.”

“Then she got bored.” Ashara supplied helpfully, and Yevari scowled.

“You’re  _ supposed _ to be on my side.” she complained. Zoai snickered. Her question fully sunk in, though, and Yevari straightened, paying a little more attention. “Why? Did he have anything unusual for me today?”

“Relax, your Imperiusness, he said it wasn’t urgent.” Zoai ruffled Yevari’s hair and Yevari made a small noise of protest. “Just go find him on the bridge when--”

_ “All hands, alert status is shifted to yellow. Prepare to take battle stations.” _

A moment of silence settled around the group as the automated voice vanished from the loudspeakers with an ominous burst of static. “Well.” Zoai remarked. “Maybe it  _ was _ kind of urgent.”

Yevari’s holocom went off, and she answered it as she walked briskly back down the corridor, towards the elevator that would take her to the command deck, Ashara and Zoai at her heels. Moff Pyron emerged, looking significantly more harried than he should be commanding a ship adrift in Wild Space. “Talk to me, Pyron.”

“A signal is coming in from an unverified communicator.” Pyron reported, and Yevari picked up her pace from a jog near to a full-on sprint towards the bridge elevator’s doors. “We have it on hold, waiting for your arrival.”

A single communications signal normally wasn’t a particular cause for concern, but Yevari had specifically ordered the  _ Doombringer _ to remain on communications lockdown, and had installed several signal jammers around its hull to keep them from being located even through their dormant equipment.

“Prank call?” Zoai offered, and Yevari gritted her teeth.

The atmosphere on the bridge was strained, but quiet. Yevari heard officers carrying out hushed conversations amongst themselves as the yellow alert status lights lended an urgent quality to the stoic and pristine bridge.

Moff Pyron stood at the main terminal, and the console flashed with the blue ‘pending call’ light. As Yevari stepped up, Pyron turned around and said, “My lord Imperius--”

“Save it.” Yevari cut him off shortly. Normally she wasn’t so terse with her people, but if the Eternal Fleet had found them, they were far from ready. “Have we verified the communicator attempting to make contact?”

“Not yet, my lord, but,” Moff Pyron handed Yevari a datapad, and she skimmed over it, “it looks like it only has  _ half _ the standard verification codes.”

Yevari read over the datapad with more care, squinting at the codes that rang familiar bells in her head. Where had she seen those codes before?

“What kind of codes are they?” Yevari was no expert in slicing, and hated the necessity of the question. Zoai plucked the datapad out of Yevari’s hands and read over it with a thoughtful frown.

“They originate from a holocom, looks like.” Zoai handed the datapad back to Yevari. “Supports my prank call theory.”

“My lord,” Moff Pyron threw a vaguely exasperated glance at Zoai, and Yevari didn’t comment on it, “while the codes originate from a holocommunicator, the  _ signal _ is coming from a lone shuttle.”

Yevari reached for her own holocom again and scrolled through the various channels, going back as far as the ones she’d used as a new Council member. One caught her eye, and she stopped before scrolling back up. “How many layers of encryption does it have?”

“Four, my lord.” Moff Pyron referenced the datapad again. “None of our slicers can seem to get through it.”

“Yev,” Ashara spoke up with a pensive look on her face, reaching for her holocom as well, “isn’t that the channel the Wrath’s Hand set up for us?”

“It is,” Yevari said, with a slow, dawning realization. “That’s  _ exactly _ what it is.” Plugging her holocom into the terminal, her half of the verification codes slid into place alongside the signal sender’s, and the holoterminal flickered to life, struggling to stabilize the image--whoever was calling had to be doing so from a great distance.

Lord Castor emerged, and all those present around the table drew in a sharp breath of surprise. “Darth Imperius.” Lord Castor said, with a grin Yevari hadn’t thought to see again. “I need to ask a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

This was far from the first mission Sethali had seen go belly-up in her time.

As a Cipher agent for Imperial Intelligence, perfection was expected and strived for but rarely achieved in its entirety, no matter the organization’s reputation before its disbanding. She was trained to compensate for snags both minor and seemingly insurmountable, and, failing to reach a solution, she was trained in a sort of pre-emptive damage control, too. She’d been told it lended her an unusually optimistic quality to her outlook on missions, but Sethali had rarely thought of herself as an optimist. Instead, she found herself more of a realist. A somewhat cynical one, at that.

And while this was far from the first mission Sethali had led that ended with losses, this one was undoubtedly one of the most critical failures she’d executed in her time as Alliance commander.

Senya was still unconscious and had been moved to the bed Arcann was occupying until very recently, and Lord Kahla wasn’t much better--her condition was less critical, and so it’d been deemed safe enough to lay her on a simple blanket on the stony ground before they returned to Odessen. Arcann was gone, and the Alliance vessels in orbit hadn’t been able to get a steady lock on his shuttle’s destination.

And, Lord Castor was gone, too. All in all, Sethali was down three of her inner circle, and all she had to show for it was the former High Justice, standing with her arms folded tightly over her midsection, like she was protecting herself from their very presence. The scowl on her face seemed to discourage anyone from approaching, but they couldn’t avoid Vaylin forever, especially if she was joining the Alliance. Sethali had her doubts, but didn’t voice them. She felt it would add too much tension to the already-strained atmosphere in this room, and would finally erupt.

Letting out a breath, Sethali tore herself away from the rest of her people--at this point, the Wrath and Lana, who’d just arrived, were the only ones still conscious--and approached Vaylin, resting in the small amount of shadow the wall cast with its soft lantern light.

Before she even arrived, Vaylin’s Force-burnt eyes narrowed and she demanded, “What do you want?”

Sethali deflated. She couldn’t help it. She felt brittle, like if someone simply breathed on her wrong, she might shatter. With effort, she straightened her spine and told Vaylin briskly, “Odessen is the best place for Senya and Kahla to recover, and you’re welcome to join us. The shuttle will be out there.” she jerked her head in the direction of the hallway leading out of the Shrine. “It’s up to you.”

Without waiting for Vaylin to respond, Sethali turned sharply on her heel and strode away, away from the room with tension so thick she could’ve cut it with the vibroknife in her boot, away from the people she’d failed today--those of them left.

She’d offered Vaylin the choice in good conscience, but was betting as well that Vaylin wouldn’t want to abandon the hunt for Arcann, now that he was gone, and regardless of the complicated relationship between Vaylin and Senya--what little Sethali had seen or heard of it--she couldn’t imagine Vaylin going anywhere else.

_Unless she wants to seize the throne,_ whispered the voice in her brain that sounded a great deal like Lana, the last time they’d argued about what to do when they found the royal family. Even if Vaylin _did_ want to take over the Eternal Throne, though, she’d need a ship to get there, and the shuttle Senya had flown here from Arcann’s flagship was too far away for Vaylin to reach before they could reasonably stop her.

Leaning against the wall and sinking down slowly until she sat on the stony ground, Sethali rested her head between her knees as her head throbbed with the beginnings of another migraine. Reaching for her belt, she injected the last of her combat stims and waited for the dull ache to fade. Using the combat stims only bought her time before she crashed for real, but she was still on a mission, and she still needed her wits about her.

Resting the back of her head against the shrine’s ancient stone walls, Sethali didn’t open her eyes until the reassuring noise of shuttle engines came over the shrine’s walls and a shadow fell.

Opening her eyes, Sethali found Lana standing over her. “Senya and Lord Kahla are being moved to the shuttle by the Voss healers.” she informed Sethali, who rubbed her face with one hand as though she could swipe the exhaustion off her face with the gesture. “They’re stable, and we’ll have Darth Syron look over them when we get back to Odessen.”

The thought almost made Sethali smile. “How much do you think Kahla will gripe at Darth Syron while recovering?”

“Enough that Kahla will probably be discharged the very moment she doesn’t need bedrest.” Lana replied dryly--the rivalry between Lord Kahla and Darth Syron was well-known on Odessen, though the latter always claimed it was a friendly one. Lana offered one hand to Sethali, who took it, and helped her back to her feet. “We’ve sent word back to Odessen, and there’ll be a few messages waiting for you when we arrive. I’ll try to make everything brief, but until we discover where SCORPIO’s gone...”

“I know.” Sethali pursed her lips and folded her arms loosely over her chest. “Though I don’t exactly expect her to be forthcoming with her motives.”

“Something tells me we’ll find out one way or the other soon enough.” Lana’s gaze shifted over to the shrine’s doorway, where the healers who were moving Kahla and Senya passed briskly by, probably eager to shepherd them off-world before they brought more trouble.

Yuhanos followed them, lips pursed into a thin and deeply worried line. It felt strange to see him without Lord Castor nearby, and drove the point home that Sethali needed to do better, for her people, for this Alliance. She needed to find her people and bring them home.

Behind all of them, at last, trailed Vaylin, looking mightily displeased with a twist to her lips that was both resigned and frustrated.

“I see we’ll be returning with one new passenger.” Lana remarked. “Though I’m not sure how we’re supposed to secure her on Odessen.”

“She isn’t a prisoner.” Sethali met Lana’s gaze evenly. “Not yet, at any rate.”

“Can I take that to mean you’ll do what’s necessary if the occasion arises?” Lana asked as they stepped onto the shuttle’s exit hatch; the craft began to rise and both women took hold of the security handles while the ship gained height.

Sethali watched the ground fall away beneath them, and cast a brief look into the cargo area, where their passengers had been set down, wherever space permitted. Vaylin sat as far away from the general proceedings as possible, arms folded tightly over her midsection in that same gesture of protection from the shrine’s inner chamber.

“I always do.” Sethali finally replied, though there was little conviction in it, and she hoped Lana didn’t notice. “But it won’t come to that.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.” Lana let go of the handle as the hatches sealed and Voss’ golden fields got more and more distant, replaced by endless arrays of stars before the plates sealed and took the view away.

Sethali sighed as she felt the shuttle jump to hyperspace and her migraine threatened to make an unwanted return. No matter what waited for her on Odessen, she had a feeling there would be little time for rest.

* * *

Arcann had heard the name Darth Imperius before.

It was one of many names he and his brother had been educated on during their initial campaign into the Core Worlds, before the Outlander had arrived and destroyed his father’s physical form, becoming host to his spirit. Darth Imperius had been listed as a ‘lethal malcontent’ and was deemed very likely to interfere with their campaigns. In the end, it hadn’t mattered much--Darth Imperius had fled the Empire a few years after he’d frozen the Outlander in carbonite and all but vanished from the galaxy.

‘Lethal malcontent’ stuck in his head, though. If he had known Lord Castor intended to reach out to her, he might have tried to dissuade the notion, though he doubted the exiled Sith lord would’ve listened to him.

There was a heavy pause, after Lord Castor greeted Darth Imperius, a petite zabrak woman with a slight figure and clad in a loose-fitting black tunic and pants.

Then, the channel erupted with noise.

“Lord Cassaire Theavela Castor, did you think you could just vanish from the face of the galaxy for years and make me think you were dead without saying anything?” Darth Imperius’ face twisted into something Arcann could only call a _pout_ , petulant and offended in a way that reminded him of Vaylin when she was younger.

“You did the same thing, little sis.” came another, slightly more distant voice from somewhere on Darth Imperius’ end of the link, though its owner was not visible.

“We’re not talking about _me_ , Zoai!”

“That’s a first.”

“ _We’re not talking about me_ ,” came Darth Imperius’ voice again, more insistent this time, “we’re _talking_ about Cassaire’s level of nerve in appearing like this after _years_ of silence and no indication whatsoever that she was even _alive_.”

There was an uncomfortable look on Lord Castor’s face that indicated she wasn’t happy he was overhearing this lecture going on, but if anything Arcann only found himself curious at this set of circumstances. It was true the Wrath’s Hand had been flushed from the Empire a few years before, but he wasn’t aware of the specific events that surrounded their flight. Clearly there was more going on here than he was going to be allowed to know, at least for now.

“ _Yevari_ ,” Lord Castor finally managed, jaw more tight than before, “I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you left instructions that you weren’t to be contacted.”

“ _Except_ in the event galactic politics shifted in such a way it would be possible for me to return to the Empire.” Darth Imperius folded her arms tightly, and her pout escalated into a scowl. “Which I’m assuming they haven’t.”

“No.” Lord Castor looked marginally more uncomfortable. “But I was serious, about the favor.”

“Oh, I know.” Darth Imperius raised a brow. “And I’d imagine it must be on the same level of importance as a shift of galactic politics.”

“I believe it is.” Lord Castor replied quietly. “I need to rendezvous with you and explain the situation in person. Please.”

There was a moment of charged silence where Darth Imperius and Lord Castor locked gazes, some kind of unspoken agreement being made. Finally, Darth Imperius turned to someone out of sight from the holoterminal and nodded.

Lord Castor visibly sagged with relief, but she just as quickly straightened again and said, “I’m getting coordinates now.”

“Usual drill, you understand.” Darth Imperius said briskly. “A few random jumps before you head for the _Doombringer_.”

“I understand.” Arcann reflexively leaned away from Lord Castor as she reached over him to start inputting the coordinates into the shuttle’s navigation computer. “We’ll be on our way soon.”

Lord Castor seemed to realize her slip at the same time Arcann and Darth Imperius did--the latter narrowed her eyes and her expression became more alert at the same time Arcann’s stomach dropped. “‘ _We_ will be on our way’?”

Blinking a few times, Lord Castor ventured, “I’m...bringing a guest.”

“The more the merrier!” came that same voice from earlier.

_"Zoai_.” Darth Imperius hissed over her shoulder. Turning back to face Lord Castor, she continued, “I assume this guest has something to do with the favor you’ll be asking for?”

“Yes.” Lord Castor paused, then said something Arcann didn’t expect. “How are your medical stocks?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for.” Darth Imperius crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip.

“A prosthetic arm.”

Darth Imperius went very still, then frowned thoughtfully. “You still have both of yours, as far as I can tell, so I assume this is also for your mysterious guest.”

“Yes.” Lord Castor answered calmly.

“Well, doesn’t this just get more and more interesting by the minute?” Darth Imperius arched a brow. “I’ll see what we have on hand, but that’s somewhat specialized.”

“I know.” Lord Castor glanced at the navicomputer, and made their final preparations for the first jump. “Just...whatever you have.”

“Fine. We’ll see you in a few days.” Darth Imperius uncrossed her arms. “ _Doombringer_ out.”

As soon as the channel cut, Lord Castor let out an explosive sigh and Arcann commented, “Darth Imperius seemed surprised to see you.”

Lord Castor snorted. “I’d be fairly surprised if I saw one of my old friends back from the dead as well.”

He wasn’t certain how to phrase the question. “I find it interesting she thought you were dead in the first place.”

Lord Castor didn’t respond for a moment, just entered the final calculations for their first hyperspace jump and executed it--the stars in their field of vision smeared until the viewport only showed them the whirling white-blue energy maelstrom of hyperspace.

“She had no way of knowing otherwise.” Lord Castor finally said. “And I was in no position to reach out to her.”

She left the cockpit, and Arcann watched over his shoulder as she began to take account of the few crates that had been in this shuttle when Arcann had commandeered it. It wasn’t a big ship, obviously not intended for long-term travel, but there were a few features that lended it a slightly more casual look.

Two bunks, one stacked on top of the other, provided limited crew accommodations, and a long, curved couch at the other side of the shuttle with a table in front of it took up most of the available open space. Lord Castor cursed under her breath and said, “I suppose it was too much to hope for there might be a few rations here. Lord Kahla must have eaten the ones she brought to Voss.”

Lord Kahla. The former Sith that his mother clearly trusted with not only her life, but his as well. Arcann had only been partially conscious at that point in the ritual, but knew that her power--so different from anyone on Zakuul’s--had augmented it. Her body, laying near his mother’s on the Shrine’s floor, was sharp in his mind, and Arcann felt the shuttle’s atmosphere pressing down on him. He felt like his very skin was crawling.

Lord Castor glanced sharply in his direction, but he stared at the shuttle’s floor before she could ask anything, breathing heavily and trying to even the breaths out. He jumped when he felt Lord Castor’s hand on the back of his mask, and his heartrate skyrocketed. Despite the careful touch, her hand felt heavy, too heavy. “You’re not breathing well enough.” she declared, and her fingers seemed to be cautiously searching for the release catch.

“Don’t.” he managed, and her armored hand vanished. “ _Don’t_ touch it.”

“Fine.” Lord Castor shifted in his peripheral vision, still standing over him. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, than for Lord Castor to be unable to bear witness to this pitiful display, but the shuttle’s size made the notion impossible. “But you have to breathe. Count of four in, count of eight out.”

She didn’t reach out again, but her boots remained in Arcann’s line of sight while he slowly steadied his breathing. He wished she would just turn around and let him sort this out himself, but she was clearly here to witness this until the bitter end. “Haven’t you got something else to be doing?”

Lord Castor seemed unfazed. “There were three mostly-empty crates on board that I’ve already fully catalogued and set aside.” Finally, mercifully, her boots turned away and headed towards the cockpit. “But if you wanted space, that can be arranged.”

Several beats of quiet passed, and Arcann looked up at last to see Lord Castor in the pilot’s chair, probably entering whatever calculations were necessary for their next hyperspace jump. The important thing was that her attention was elsewhere.

Slowly, Arcann reached up to release the catches on his mask, and it fell heavily into his lap, the action somehow very final in a way that their entire flight from Voss was not.

He let out a deep, shuddering breath as his face was exposed to the open air for the first time since before he’d faced the Commander on his flagship. It _was_ , he decided, easier to breathe without it.

* * *

Vaylin wanted to hate Odessen, but the planet seemed to be doing its best to make it hard on her.

When the Commander’s shuttle descended through the cloud layer, it emerged into a ferociously sunny day, casting cheerful light over vibrant green forests and regal stone outcroppings farther in the distance, even sending long shadows into a few canyons she could see from her limited vantage in the cargo area. The base itself was awash with activity and people, though most of them cleared out when the shuttle set down in the main hangar.

Several soldiers stayed behind to get Lord Kahla and her mother to whatever passed for healers on his forsaken base. Vaylin watched them go, and couldn’t decide if she wanted to know where the infirmary was or not.

Once the arrivals in need of immediate medical care had been seen to, Vaylin watched the Outlander speak to a few of her people, taking a datapad from one of them and wrinkling her nose in a slight scowl. Handing the datapad back, she turned instead towards Vaylin, and Vaylin straightened up to her full height, though even that wasn’t enough she could look the Outlander in the eye without having to tilt her head.

The Outlander--the Commander--was more in her element here, more secure, and Vaylin felt more at a disadvantage than she did on Voss. There, for better or worse, she’d had Arcann, at least. “Vaylin,” the Commander greeted her, “I know there’s a lot to take in here, but if you wanted to see the base--”

“I can handle it.” Vaylin smiled, but it was empty. “You’re being demoted to my tour guide, then, _Commander?_ ”

The jibe got nothing more than a raised eyebrow out of her. “I wouldn’t call it a demotion.” Turning on her heel, she walked towards the hangar entrance, and Vaylin begrudgingly followed. “I shouldn’t ask my people to do the things I’m not willing to do myself, now should I?”

“Hmm. So hard to tell if you’re being rhetorical or serious.” Vaylin pretended to think about it.

“Rhetorical, I’d hope.” she joked. Settling back into her more businesslike demeanor, the Commander indicated the room before them, adorned with the Alliance’s banners, carved out of the stone and embedded into the cliffside. “The war room. We’ll be seeing a lot of it in the near future. You already saw the hangar. We’ll discuss the specialists depending on how things proceed.”

“I wonder how that might be.” Vaylin’s lip twisted. “Seeing as I’m all but a prisoner here.”

She didn’t receive a response until they headed down a side hallway, where Vaylin realized individual quarters were kept. It didn’t look like a prison, but Vaylin raised her guard as the last of the sunlight vanished around the corner. When the Commander came to a sudden stop and turned around, Vaylin was brought up short, but folded her arms and frowned mulishly up at the Commander.

“Let me be blunt, Vaylin.” the Commander said quietly, ruby-red eyes holding nothing but a somber exhaustion; the shadows provided by the artificial lighting made her look years older. “You aren’t a prisoner in the traditional sense. You can choose to leave as the will strikes you.”

Vaylin sniffed. “That’s stupid. And trusting.”

“I don’t trust you, Vaylin.” the Commander’s grin was hollow. “But I want to.”

“Why would you--”

“You left the flagship with Senya and Arcann.”

Vaylin’s jaw snapped shut, and she locked eyes with the Commander, who didn’t flinch. “You left the flagship with Senya and Arcann,” she repeated, “and you went to Voss with them, and you would have fought us off if we’d turned out to be unfriendly, I think. You could’ve chosen to leave them at any point, and you didn’t. You could’ve chosen to run off and take the Eternal Throne for yourself, and you didn’t do that, either.” the Commander shrugged. “I suppose I could imprison you, put you on trial for what’s happened in the past five years, imprison you again until the galaxy was satisfied you’d paid your dues to society. Or,” the Commander pressed the door control leading into the room they’d been conversing in front of, “I could recognize a potential ally when I see one, and give her the choice for herself.”

“I’m not your ally.” Vaylin snapped. “Don’t talk to me like we’re friends.”

“I said _potential_ ally.” as the light changed, some of the weariness seemed to slide off the Commander’s face, replaced again by that determined stoicity Vaylin remembered from Voss. “Whether you prove me right or wrong remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

Vaylin didn’t have a response to that, so changed the subject. She jerked her head in the direction of the room the Commander had just opened. “So this is to be my cell, is it? Awfully nice for a prison.”

“It was Lord Castor’s,” the Commander replied mildly, “and since she won’t be here for at least a short while, you can use it for now. She never kept much here, and hadn’t settled in for long before the Voss mission. If we find Lord Castor and your brother quickly enough, we’ll get something else sorted out.”

Vaylin tightened her arms where they were folded across her stomach, looking around the austere and spartan room, much less extravagant than her chambers in the Spire. For how dim and rugged it was, she decided it may as well have been a prison, after all.

“One last thing,” the Commander said, warily, like she wasn’t sure if she should’ve brought it up, “the infirmary is out of this hallway and on the right. Just...thought you should be aware.”

It annoyed Vaylin more than she wanted to admit. “Don’t you have something more important to be doing?” she retorted sharply.

As if to emphasize the point, the Commander’s datapad, clipped to her belt, let out a single chiming noise, and both their gazes locked onto it. Still, the Commander hesitated to check it, and finished, “We’ll meet in the war room in a few hours to discuss how best to track your brother and Lord Castor.” before turning and striding quickly down the hallway.

Then, Vaylin was alone. It wasn’t the blessing she’d been hoping for.

Lord Castor’s quarters were well-maintained and barren by Vaylin’s standards--no decorations adorned the walls, the furniture was utilitarian at best and a thin layer of dust, likely from the rough-hewn rock walls, covered almost everything. Vaylin dragged her finger across the desk and came away with a layer of earthy powder on the tip. Shaking it off, Vaylin turned and left the corridor, towards the _only_ thing on Odessen base that even vaguely interested her right now.

She felt their eyes on her as she walked, and had to resist snarling at the more openly curious stares, clenching her hands into tight fists at her side as she came into the base’s common area.

_There_.

Two domes, each mounted with an air defense turret, were clear transparisteel and offered a passable enough view of the vale below. No one else was present.

It was quiet here, too, but unlike the stony quiet of the Alliance base, this one was airy, lighter, and some of the angry tension left Vaylin’s frame. It wasn’t like the Spire, not really, because nothing was like the view of space and the entire planet of Zakuul below from an impossibly tall tower, but it was enough.

With the aid of a quick Force leap, Vaylin landed atop one of the clear domes and gathered her legs beneath her, watching as Odessen’s sun began a slow arc to the horizon. She’d been here not all that long ago, back when her brother had a flagship and a throne and an entire empire at their command.

It seemed like another lifetime now, and Vaylin didn’t know if she liked the notion or detested it. It almost would have been easier if the Commander had treated her like an enemy, like the dangerous weapon she’d always been.

_Or, I could recognize a potential ally when I see one, and give her the choice for herself._

Vaylin’s face twisted into a fierce glower, and watched the sun’s slow descent to the horizon. It seemed too peaceful for her.

She decided to be selfish and bask in the quiet anyway.

* * *

Sethali didn’t believe in omens, but she could appreciate good news--and opportunity--when she got it. Her datapad helpfully reminded her that she had two missed holocalls, both of which she was eager to take.

Passing quickly through the base and acknowledging those who spoke to her with a brief word and wave, Sethali slipped back into her quarters, turned on the caf machine, and ensured her security seals were active.

If she was the perfectly responsible Alliance commander, she’d have answered the first call, from deep in Imperial space. But Sethali had been the perfectly responsible Alliance commander for weeks without end now.

She took the second call.

It took several moments for it to connect, evidence of the great distance the call was being routed through. When her holoterminal finally _clicked_ and glowed blue, Sethali beamed before he could even speak.

“You don’t write anymore, Seth.” Vitus told Sethali with a grin. “We can’t speculate on your adventures forever.”

Sethali knew her relationship with Vitus Vani--the son of Lord Areke Vani, who had taken Sethali off the streets of Nar Shaddaa so many years ago--had always been and always would be very complicated, by most standards, but he was the closest Sethali had ever had to a brother, and regardless of the circumstances that had once brought them under the same roof, she would be grateful for his presence in her life. “It’s been a busy few weeks.” she admitted. “I trust you’ve heard about the Battle of Odessen.”

“We’d heard about it hours after it happened.” Vitus face, marked with geometric tattoos and lined with three long scars down one cheek, twisted into a frown. “But movement on the Alliance hasn’t been...conclusive, since the battle.”

“It was intentional.” Sethali took a seat at her desk and smoothed her hands over its surface. “We didn’t want to spread panic by admitting we’d let the royal family escape.”

“I assume they were found.” Vitus arched a brow.

Sethali sighed, and expelled a week’s worth of stress from her shoulders, letting them slump. “We found two of them.” Sethali drew patterns on the desk with one finger and couldn’t meet Vitus’ eyes. “Arcann escaped, and Lord Castor is with him. It’s...complicated.”

Vitus didn’t press the matter further. Part of Sethali was relieved. “What do you plan to do now?”

“Track my missing people. Rebuild what we lost during the last battle.” Sethali looked up at her holoterminal again, at Vitus’ image floating above it. “And find out what SCORPIO is planning.”

Vitus made a noise of vague distress. “Still missing?”

“She led us to the royal family, on Voss.” Sethali’s lip twisted. “Beyond that, we haven’t heard anything from her. I can’t help but wonder what kind of game she’s playing with us this time. She’s already played us for fools once.”

“Seth--blast it all--I’m sorry, but I’m needed elsewhere.” Vitus looked over his shoulder at someone Sethali couldn’t see from her end. “We’ll talk again soon. I promise.”

Vitus vanished before Sethali could respond, the link severed, and Sethali rose slowly to her feet to turn on her caf maker. There used to be a time, when Sethali was a new cipher agent and Vitus a fresh apprentice eager to see the galaxy, they had been able to correspond with much greater frequency--they talked about the places they went, the people they met.

Then the war with the Republic had kicked off again, and in a way had never really ended. Sethali took a long drink of the fresh caf, even though it burned her tongue. There was still one more call to take.

This time, Sethali stood with her hands linked behind her back waiting for the call to connect, and when it did, Sethali briskly said, “Silas.”

“Commander.” Silas Reth had once been a cipher agent like Sethali herself, left somewhat at a loss with the dissolution of the entire organization. When the Alliance had formed, five years after Sethali’s fateful encounter with Valkorion in the throne room and being frozen in carbonite, Lana had recommended reaching out to him again. “I trust you have a few minutes to talk.”

As a contact still embedded in the Empire and yet all but a ghost among them, he was her most trusted source for the current political climate, but there hadn’t been much news in recent months. “I have time. I assume something’s happened?”

“Empress Acina knows about your incursion on Voss.” Silas said, expression somber and reserved. “She’s interested in discussing an alliance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silas Reth (though he made only a brief appearance this chapter) belongs to amadarav on tumblr, who was kind enough to loan me his agent for storytelling purposes!
> 
> And as always, thanks so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

It was always cold in the Eternal Throne room’s spire.

Naisha Vyrint, Exarch of Corellia, couldn’t say whether it was the natural chill of space surrounding it, the energy that the royal family had applied through the Force while residing there, or if it was just all psychological, from the tension the very banisters and panes of transparisteel carried, still potent, no less formidable. Someone more devout than her might have said it was Valkorion’s glorious presence, but she had been in that throne room after his brat took the throne, and it felt much the same.

As she rode up the elevator to the war room and felt a single droplet of sweat slide down her neck under her armored collar, she might say she preferred the last of her three theories most. This tension, while still unwelcome, was a kind Naisha was far more familiar with.

The elevator door slid smoothly open and her boots made decisive strides up to the holographic projection table, which held a view of a small battlegroup of Eternal Fleet ships. _Their_ ships. As she watched, they vanished into hyperspace, leaving only holographic stars and the distant view of the planet Odessen.

Silence fell as she strode up to the table, and she laid her shield carefully against it. One of the other Exarchs, Zar Draya--the one from Alderaan if Naisha remembered correctly--turned her nose up, cybernetics glittering dangerously in the low light from screens and holographic projections.

“Late to your own meeting. For shame, Vyrint.” with so few survivors from Project Exarch, those who remained rarely deemed the usage of their titles necessary. Reminders of who they were came every day they saw one another’s cybernetic faces across the war table.

It _was_ rare for all of them to convene in person, though--it left their Star Fortresses with only basic defenses, and even now, Naisha chafed at leaving Corellia for the relatively short trip home--but the situation called for it.

“I recommended this meeting be called,” Naisha began, disregarding Zar Draya’s jibe for the moment to get her meeting on track, “in the wake of the loss our Empire has just suffered.”

It was more than the loss of Emperor Arcann. SCORPIO’s control of the fleet meant Zakuul was nigh-undefended, barring the few squadrons piloted by flesh-and-blood pilots. If the Alliance wanted to strike, or the Republic, or Sith Empire, now would be the time to do it. Their only saving grace was that the news Zakuul had all but lost control of their fleet to a droid with mysterious and frustrating purposes was not very wide-spread. Not yet, at least. The Alliance knew the truth, and they very well could spread it. It was a risk, but a calculated one.

Naisha _did_ note that a small battlegroup of the Eternal Fleet’s ships had been left to patrol around the planet’s orbit, and equated the miniature armada to a mother indulgently leaving toys for her children to play with while she did the _real_ work. Indulging a child’s need to feel useful, needed, important. Or simply to keep them busy. That, however, implied a maternal connection to Zakuul that Naisha doubted that droid had.

She would not be reduced to a child in anyone’s eyes. Her fist tightened on the surface of the war table, and the temperature noticeably dropped a few degrees.

Perhaps her second theory on the throne room spire’s temperature held more water than she’d thought.

Lesin Tyn, who commanded the space above Nar Shaddaa, straightened slightly, and he said, “The nature of our loss is not unknown to us, Vyrint. The question is: what are we prepared to do about it with only a small group of ships?”

“Whatever we can.” Naisha pressed a few keys and brought up floating images of the planets Zakuul had not wrung dry of wealth just yet. “Our Star Fortresses are still our biggest advantage. We hold their worlds in a stranglehold--they can’t risk fighting back without breaking their own necks. We leave the... _battlegroup_ ,” her lip curled at the reminder of the small group of ships, passing serenely beside the transparisteel windows, as they came into view, “to defend Zakuul. That is non-negotiable.”

“The Alliance doesn’t have the manpower _or_ ships to openly attack Zakuul.” Zar Draya spoke up again with a disdainful twist of her mouth.

“We didn’t think they had the personnel or equipment to defend against the Odessen attack, either.” Forta Gair, the Exarch of Belsavis, countered with a pointed look at the rest of the table.

“My point exactly.” Zar pressed another key on the table, and a holographic image of the Alliance’s base world emerged. “Much of their resources were spent on repelling our attack.”

“We suffered losses, as well.” Naisha’s jaw tightened, but she managed to restrain the snap that wanted badly to emerge.

“And now we have next to nothing.” Tarso Gren, of the Tatooine Star Fortress, who had fought Naisha longer and harder than anyone before being sent there instead of Corellia, cast a murderous look her direction. “If we separated what remains of our ships into smaller battlegroups, we could better protect the Star Fortresses. You yourself said the Star Fortresses are our greatest advantage. We must protect them with whatever resources we still have at our disposal.”

“This is assuming, Tarso,” Naisha’s grin was cold and toothy, threatening even in its mildness as she elegantly deflected his attempt to usurp her control of this gathering, “we could order the ships to do our bidding. Thus far, the rest of the fleet has ignored commands because SCORPIO controls the throne. If she wants that battlegroup to patrol Zakuul, the odds are good we cannot order them otherwise. It’s non-negotiable, not because I say so, but because we have no way of controlling the vessels ourselves.”

“A droid on the Empire’s throne,” Zar grumbled mutinously, and for once Naisha was inclined to agree, even as she noted the irony of it, as well, “it’s insulting more than anything else.”

“In the absence of a decisive voice leading the people,” Naisha pressed the key to dismiss the holoprojections and leaned on the table, the room darkened but for the faint lights in her fellow Exarchs’ cybernetics, “we must stand as protectors of our Empire. Just because we don’t have the means to crush the Alliance now doesn’t mean we won’t have the ability to later. Opportunity comes in many forms.”

“We must appear strong to the rest of Zakuul, and to the galaxy.” Forta said thoughtfully. “Now more than ever.”

“The truly strong have no need to declare it.” Naisha stated firmly. “They show it through actions.”

“We have no ability to take decisive action.” Tarso shot back flatly.

“Not _yet_ .” Naisha reminded him. “For now, the best course of action would be to secure our domains. Sharpen our defenses. Opportunity _will_ come. When it arrives, we shall seize it.”

Zakuul’s Exarchs slowly filtered from the room, casting looks at Naisha as they passed, but she didn’t look up to acknowledge them. She waited until she was alone in the war room, then dragged one hand tiredly down her face, gently massaging the area around where her left eye used to be, now covered by a cybernetic plate.

_Izax_ , but she was tired of stepping up to take charge. Better that than watch their Empire run about like a bird with its head cut off, but there were those she’d have thought far more suited to the task than herself.

“Exarch Vyrint?” an aide walked hesitantly up, datapad in hand. Another unfortunate consequence of being the first Exarch to take charge since Arcann and Vaylin had vanished without a trace--even those who served Zakuul’s elite saw her as the authority now. They were used to having a single voice giving commands, but she was no Empress.

“What?” she demanded sourly, continuing to rub her forehead as sweat began to bead at the edges of her dull silvery cybernetics and her hairline, black streaked with faint lines of gray.

“We got an, ah, anonymous tip, Exarch.” the aide handed over a datapad into Naisha’s reluctant hand. “Someone spotted the royal family on Voss...along with a small task force of Alliance vessels.”

Skeptical in the first part of the statement before the aide continued, Naisha’s good eye locked onto the datapad, but the few lines of text there were not enough to assuage her curiosity. “Did the royal family depart Voss with the Alliance? Did the Alliance finish them off? What of Senya Tirall? We know she left the Alliance--was she with the former emperor and high justice?”

The aide wrung her hands. “Exarch, I...no details were provided, and as I said, it was an anonymous tip--”

“I put no faith in anonymous tips with no proof.” Naisha cut the aide off briskly. “I want to know who sent this message. I want to know _how_ they know this.”  
  
“I...yes, Exarch. We’ll get started on it.” the aide wearily took the datapad back, and darted away, presumably to deliver her orders to the slicers still in their employ.

Naisha took another moment to straighten her wayward locks of hair before tucking them back into her helmet, picking up her shield from where it lay against the holoprojector table. The lightsaber pike over her shoulder had never felt so heavy.

As the doors sealed behind her, Naisha left her doubts behind her, on the floor next to the war table. Life was a fight for survival, every day, even to her last breath, and this was no different.

* * *

Their shuttle didn’t have much, but at the very least, it had enough combat stims to keep Cassaire awake for their journey to the _Doombringer_. She’d thank the Force for whatever small miracles she could at this point.

Two days after her initial call to Yevari, Cassaire had dropped their shuttle out of hyperspace to set course for the ship itself, taking the proper precautions as Yevari had requested. She and Arcann had not spoken hardly at all in that time, and for a short while, Cassaire could almost forget the situation she’d landed herself in. She could imagine, so very briefly, that she was finally going to see her long-lost friend after years of silence, to catch up and let Yevari’s irreverent and reckless humor fill that void in Cassaire’s chest that only one of her oldest and closest friends could.

Then she would leave the cockpit, spot Arcann in the ship’s cargo area, and the fantasy came crashing down, replaced by reality.

She wasn’t certain Arcann had slept, either--she certainly hadn’t seen him sleep, at least, and there were only so many places to go in this cramped shuttle--and her twitchiness was starting to affect him, too, though she supposed it was just as likely the ambient tension in the ship that rested over every available surface like a thick miasma of doubt and uncertainty.

The single fixture of furniture this shuttle had besides the two-bunk bed was a curved couch, utilitarian in nature, but enough she could drag one of the empty supply crates over to it and start taking her lightsaber apart to check if it needed maintenance while aboard the _Doombringer_. She’d likely replace a few components on it anyway, while she had the chance--stars only knew when she’d make it back to Odessen.

She felt eyes on her, and looked up at the shuttle’s other occupant. Arcann had claimed one of the other crates and had been watching her surreptitiously, but glanced away when she raised her head.

He still wore his mask, though Cassaire knew he’d taken it off in the immediate aftermath of her call with Yevari. She’d been curious, but retained enough propriety to respect his desire for privacy, what little privacy could be found on this ship. She supposed even emperors had their comforts.

“What is it?” she asked as she looked down at her lightsaber again.

“Nothing.” came the curt reply. Many of their conversations--though Cassaire hesitated to term their brief exchanges as such--ended like this, and as a somewhat lacking conversationalist herself, Cassaire hadn’t found a topic with which to continue talking about that would be neutral ground for both of them. They’d been sitting in silence for nearly two full days now, though, and if it got any more uncomfortable in this shuttle, Cassaire thought she might burst from the tension.

With her partially disassembled lightsaber in front of her, she got a brief burst of inspiration. It was a simple enough question, at least. “Will your lightsaber need repairs when we reach the _Doombringer_?”

“No.”

Cassaire wanted to groan in frustration, but contained it to pursing her lips as she carefully began to put her saber back together. Abandoning her attempts at conversation, the shuttle fell once more into weighted silence.

She felt eyes on her again, though, and looked up as she was halfway done putting her lightsaber back together. This time Arcann watched her with a kind of wary and disbelieving curiosity. “You fix your own lightsaber?”

Cassaire returned her attention to her task as she answered. “I didn’t before I left Imperial space. I built this one when I made it to the Alliance. Fixing an ancient lightsaber filched from a Sith lord’s tomb is far different than fixing one made in the modern era.”

“You _built_ your own lightsaber?”

It was more of a conversation than they’d had since fleeing Voss, so Cassaire looked up and paid more attention. “I didn’t build my first one, but I did build this one.” Glancing down briefly to attach the last protective plate covering the crystal chamber, Cassaire listened for the satisfying _click_ of the parts coming together. She looked back up to find Arcann watching her with poorly-masked suspicion on his face. “Somehow it feels...better, to have built it myself. It’s more a part of me than my old one.”

There was a drop in Cassaire’s stomach as their shuttle emerged from hyperspace, and both their gazes locked onto the front viewport, where an Imperial battlecruiser flanked by no more than a half-dozen ships of varying classifications drifted slowly into view.

“ _Doombringer_ to shuttle craft, your arrival was anticipated and clearance codes have been verified.” the voice that emerged from the speaker wasn’t one that Cassaire recognized, but it said the magic words, and she slipped into the pilot’s chair as it continued, “You’re cleared to land in docking bay A-2. Darth Imperius will meet you there.”

“Here goes nothing.” Cassaire muttered. “Here goes everything.”

“I was under the impression,” Arcann told her, mildly accusatory, “that you and Darth Imperius were on good terms.”

“‘Good’ is stretching things.” Cassaire said carefully as she turned their shuttle in the direction specified. “Or, at the very least, I have a great deal of explaining to do.”

He didn’t ask anything further, but Cassaire could sense his disquiet and knew a great deal hung on how well she could explain to Yevari just what had happened since she’d vanished on the _Doombringer_.

Being on an Imperial vessel again lended Cassaire a unique feeling of both nostalgia and apprehension, aided in no way by Arcann’s presence at her shoulder; she wouldn’t put it past him for him to be looking for potential escapes if this ended badly.

One of the access doors opened, and Yevari strode through at a brisk walk, looking much the same as she had over the holo with her tunic, leggings, and boots. Red hair hung in wavy locks over her shoulders and back, and Cassaire winced as she stopped dead. She definitely didn’t look happy.

Cassaire moved to greet Yevari at the entrance, but the petite lord met Cassaire halfway and seized her elbow in a bruising grip. “Cassaire,” Yevari said through her teeth, deceptively even, “might I talk to you in _private?_ ”

Through the same door Yevari came from, Ashara and a man in Imperial uniform--the Moff in charge of Yevari’s Imperial forces, if Cassaire had to guess--emerged as well...followed by a full squadron of Imperial troops, marching in a neat square and moving at a sedate pace before catching sight of their new arrivals, reaching for weapons and falling into a defensive formation. They likely weren’t an attack squad, but Cassaire felt Arcann’s spike of anger, and she stepped forward to put Arcann a few steps behind her. She had only a precious few seconds to prevent a total disaster.

“Yevari, please call off your people.” Cassaire said calmly, swallowing the nerves that churned in her gut. “I said I would explain everything.”

“You failed to mention that your ‘mysterious guest’ was the Emperor of Zakuul.” Yevari snapped, bloodshot green eyes narrowed sharply with fury. “And you also failed to inform me I’d need to take security measures upon your arrival. This is just a standard welcoming party. I’d have had _far_ more if I’d known the truth.”

“He isn’t my prisoner.” Cassaire told Yevari firmly, and the smaller Sith watched Cassaire with a blank and thoughtful expression. “I said I would explain, and I will, but not at gunpoint. Yevari. _Please_ call off your people.”

There was a brief standoff, and Cassaire didn’t know if Yevari would actually acquiesce, but with a sigh of defeat, she turned to the Moff at her back and made a swift gesture; he straightened and the troops approaching at their back cautiously lowered their weapons before putting some distance between themselves and the hangar’s occupants. “If it was anyone but you, Cassaire...”

“Thank you, Yev.” Cassaire felt a weight drop off her shoulders, and released her breath.

“Don’t ‘Yev’ me.” Yevari warned. “And don’t thank me yet. What exactly is going on here?”

Cassaire folded her arms. “Short version or long version?”

“Short.” came a new voice, and Cassaire turned to see Zoai leaned casually against the door frame with her arms folded. “We’ve got places to be, you know.”

“Right.” Cassaire replied dryly. She almost smiled, but the atmosphere seemed too tense for it. “Well, in that case: Sethali was frozen in carbonite until recently, thawed out, and she now leads an Alliance dedicated to dismantling the Eternal Throne.”

Yevari blinked. “You’re telling me _Sethali_ didn’t bother to call, either? Unbelievable. Well, I only see one potential throne-bearer here. What happened to the High Justice?”

“I assume she’s...with the Alliance.” Cassaire cast an uncertain glance back at Arcann, whose face betrayed nothing. “Sethali would’ve offered mercy.”

“Well, assuming this is all accurate,” Yevari shifted her weight and folded her arms, “who’s in control of the Eternal Throne? I assume it isn’t Sethali; the look on your face isn’t promising.”

Cassaire sighed. “SCORPIO.”

Yevari swore under her breath. Ashara and Moff Pyron straightened. “My lord,” he began, “we might make preparations for a quick departure from this sector...just in case.”

“See to it.” Yevari ordered briskly, turning this time to look at Arcann. “So, that still doesn’t explain why you’re here, and why you’re traveling with Zakuul’s former emperor.”

“There was a ritual...” Arcann began haltingly, and Cassaire glanced over her shoulder, stepping to the side now it looked like the danger was past.

Yevari’s face didn’t change. “Go on. I’m listening. For now.”

When Arcann showed no sign he intended to continue, however, Cassaire picked up the tale. “A healing ritual on Voss backfired, and possibly injured one of the Knights who helped the royal family escape, as well as Kahla.”

Interest lit up Yevari’s face, followed immediately by irritation as her lip turned down into a pout. “Did _everyone_ go and join this blasted Alliance while I’ve been out here? Who else is there?”

“Darth Syron.” Cassaire said without missing a beat.

Yevari snorted. “I can’t imagine having Kahla and Natalle in the same room produces many positive results. So. A backfired healing ritual. How did that bring you here?”

“I cannot face the Alliance yet.” Arcann spoke up again. “Not while I’m unsure if its commander is being controlled or influenced by my father.”

“He ran,” Cassaire continued, “and I followed. I suggested you as our first stop. I figured the situation warranted it.”

“I suppose it does.” Yevari admitted grudgingly. “Well. I have just one last question for you, Arcann--I assume you’re not using your title anymore. Do you _want_ to go back to the Alliance eventually?”

It was a good question, and Cassaire hadn’t thought to ask it before--though, to be fair, not much conversation had happened at all on the trip here. “That remains to be seen.” Arcann replied tersely.

“Let me rephrase that: healing ritual be damned, do you want to fight the Alliance?” Yevari’s face was uncharacteristically grim, and Cassaire’s shoulders straightened. “It’s one thing to be healed, another thing entirely to choose what you do with your freedom after the fact. I know that better than anyone.”

There was silence for a few beats, and Cassaire glanced at Arcann, whose brow was knitted--either thoughtfully or with irritation, she didn’t know him nearly well enough to tell the difference behind his half-mask--but he finally said, “I don’t want to cause any more destruction. There’s been...enough of it. At my hands more than anyone else’s.”

Some of the tension in Yevari’s frame relented, and a collective breath was released around the group. “Very well. I’ll accept that, for the time being, at least.” her expression turned more stern, and she added, “Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, though. Either myself, Lord Castor, or Ashara will have knowledge of your whereabouts aboard my ship, one way or another.”

“I will _not_ be shadowed.” he sounded affronted.

“Then you won’t have run of this ship.” Yevari snapped. “Let me be clear: I only have this ship and this meager fleet because I sent them away from the Empire near the beginning of your fleet’s campaigns--every other Dark Lord’s power base was decimated or disappeared like mine. They’re irreplaceable. I’m not going to risk my vessels--or the lives of my crew--on your fledgling good will, based entirely on faith.”

There was a brief face-off between Yevari and Arcann before the latter muttered, “Very well.”

“Finally.” Yevari turned to Zoai, still leaning on the doorway, and said, “Is the medical bay ready?”

“Yep.” Zoai pushed herself off and rested one hand on her hip. “We had the materials to construct a new prosthetic, but we’ve gotta take some measurements first. Don’t want to give you one arm six inches longer than the other.”

“No one’s arm is that long, Zoai.” Yevari countered, exasperated.

“I _know_ that, Yev. Excuse me for trying to lighten the mood.” she jerked her head in the direction of the corridor beyond. “Come on, let’s get started.”

“You?” came Arcann’s bemused question.

“Well, I’m not gonna handle the _whole_ thing by myself, but I know a few things about medicine.” Zoai retorted.

“‘A few things’.” Yevari rolled her eyes. “ _Now_ she chooses to be modest. Zo apparently got a few medical degrees and certifications over the holonet while I was gone.”

“Amazing what you can learn on the holonet.” Zoai interjected cheerfully. “Plus, Republic soldiers are a lot more likely to let some raggedy smuggler treat them if they hear you have a couple degrees under your belt, you know?”

“Right.” Cassaire didn’t know if she was dreaming, if her combat stims had finally worn off and this was some bizarre vision her sleep-deprived brain had concocted for her, but she felt dazed. “Of course Zoai is a medical genius. What else would she be?”

“I wouldn’t say _genius_ is accurate, but close enough.” Zoai shrugged. “Plus I’m the only one here with at least as much fancy education as Yev’s ship doctors. Probably more.”

“Keep me posted.” Yevari told Zoai, who gave her a thumbs-up as she and Ashara headed down the corridor, followed hesitantly by Arcann, who cast one more glance at Cassaire before going.

When just Yevari and Cassaire remained in the hangar, a stiff silence sat between them. Yevari sighed. “You never bring me anything nice, Cass. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were punishing me for something.”

Cassaire laughed, and some of the room’s chill evaporated. “I never was good at gift-giving.”

“You came back, and I suppose that’s gift enough.” Yevari’s smile was dry. “But try not to bring me any more potentially very dangerous guests. I had quite enough trouble after you disappeared.”

Cassaire’s grin faded. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“I know.” Yevari frowned. “So what happens now?”

“I’m not sure.” Cassaire yawned. “I feel like this is some kind of dream. I’ll wake up back on Odessen and none of this will have happened.”

“I know the feeling.” Yevari replied somberly, fists upon hips as her gaze found the hangar’s deck. “It hasn’t been easy, living out here, but it’s better than the alternative.” Meeting Cassaire’s eyes again, Yevari continued, “I have more questions, but they can wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Yev.” Cassaire said earnestly. “I mean it.”

Yevari shrugged. “Oh, what’s it matter? Stars know we’ve got the lodging for a few extra guests. Even former emperors. I just have one more question for you, for the moment.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you believe he genuinely wants to do better?”

There was only one ‘he’ they could’ve been discussing. Cassaire shifted her feet. “I haven’t been around him long enough to tell for certain.”

The look on Yevari’s face was nothing short of skeptical. “You have some of the best instincts I know, Cass. At least give me your best guess.”

Cassaire searched what she’d felt from Arcann over the past several days, the irritation and wariness and guarded caution, and also his rising panic as soon as she’d mentioned Lord Kahla, who had potentially made a significant personal sacrifice to save him, panic that it was a debt he could not repay. She couldn’t read everything from that spike of panic, but she’d seen-- _felt_ \--enough.

“Yes.” Cassaire finally said. “Yes, I do.”

Yevari searched Cassaire’s face for a moment before she nodded. “All right. That’s all for now, then. You still have your old quarters here. We’ll talk in the morning. And Cass?”

Cassaire arched a brow in query. “Yes?”

“It’s good to have you back.” Yevari admitted. “No more disappearing acts.”

Her grin was a little sad, but sincere. “I’ll do my best.”


	6. Chapter 6

There were hours left to kill before Sethali needed to report to the war room, but while she’d originally been looking forward to the brief period of rest after returning from Voss, once she’d spoken with Vitus and then Silas, she felt too restless, like her skin tingled with anticipation.

An alliance with the Empire should have been important news--and it was, by most accounts--but Sethali was uneasy at the timing. She’d be a fool to assume the Empire and Republic hadn’t been keeping tabs on the Alliance leading up to and then after the battle for Odessen, waiting to see if they could really deliver what they’d promised. They’d struck a decisive blow against the Eternal Throne, but they were weaker now for it.

If Sethali was going to consider Empress Acina’s offer, she needed to do so from slightly more even ground. At the very least, the  _ Gravestone _ had to be functional again--it was the Alliance’s most potent symbol, the legend that lended them an air of destiny, if Sethali was inclined to believe in such things.

_ That _ was something she could do. Turning sharply on her heel, Sethali left her quarters and strode briskly down to where the  _ Gravestone _ ’s dry-dock walkways connected to the base itself. She could have taken a shuttle, but something about the air helped her splitting headaches. She couldn’t take any more combat stims until tomorrow at least--and Kahla had warned her repeatedly that combat stims were  _ not _ a cure for migraines, to little avail--but if she intended to make it through a war room meeting, she needed some form of relief.

Koth’s crew had started working on the  _ Gravestone _ the minute they’d landed it in dry-dock after the battle, but even with shifts of people working around the clock, it would take at least two weeks before the vessel would be ready to potentially take on the Eternal Fleet again. Given that Sethali still knew nothing about what SCORPIO intended to do with it, those few weeks felt a lifetime away. She’d led them to the royal family on Voss, but Sethali had known SCORPIO long enough to be certain that wasn’t an indication of anything more than another piece being moved on her board, a game of dejarik with an end Sethali couldn’t hope to predict, and one with very real consequences.

In the  _ Gravestone _ ’s corridors, Sethali passed Len, who gave her a quick wave. Picking her way over the debris the crew was using to patch the ship up from within and without, she asked, “What is it?”

“Captain wanted to see you.” Len jerked a thumb in the direction of the bridge. “Heard you got back from Voss but not much else.”

Sethali bit her lip to keep from sighing openly. “All right. I’ll be up there in a moment.”

If she was being entirely honest with herself, Sethali wasn’t looking forward to the conversation she knew would follow. She knew she would have to defend her decision to pardon the royal family fiercely, but nothing made her more apprehensive than defending it to someone she’d come to trust.

Koth had at least earned the truth from her, so that was what she would tell him.

The  _ Gravestone’ _ s bridge was abuzz with activity: Tora’s surly shouting carried clearly across the room as she scolded one of the engineers for nearly frying the power core  _ again _ . Sethali arched a brow and carried on to where Koth’s familiar jacket sat across one of the bridge chairs.

The jacket’s owner was on his back on the bridge’s deck, halfway under one of the bridge consoles, where the flickering light from a welding torch emerged. Sethali leaned against the half-destroyed console and inquired casually, “Busy?”

There was a metallic  _ thump _ and a muffled curse as Koth leaned his head out, watching Sethali as she raised a brow. “You’re back! Finally. Here I was about to tell the crew to gear up for a rescue mission.”

Sethali’s grin was weak, and she shrugged a little. “There were some delays.”

“What kind of delays?” she’d never been able to fool Koth, and that was part of why Sethali trusted him, to some degree. She was tired of fooling people. There was something refreshing in being transparent, as transparent as someone like her was capable of being.

“Things on Voss didn’t go exactly as planned.” Sethali lowered her voice a fraction as she leaned away from the console and linked her hands in front of her; it was a defensive gesture, an unconscious one she didn’t catch until it was too late, but unnoticeable to almost anyone on Odessen. “We came home with a new addition to the Alliance.”

“Don’t tell me Senya’s back.” Koth’s lip twisted a little with displeasure, and Sethali’s heart dropped with dismay, though if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t surprised.

“You’ll probably be glad to hear Senya’s here when I tell you who else we brought back.” Sethali replied wearily, unlinking her hands and letting them rest empty at her sides. “We brought Vaylin.”

Silence fell for a brief moment, broken finally by Koth saying, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking.” Sethali said flatly. “We found Senya, Arcann, and Vaylin on Voss, attempting a healing ritual. Kahla gave some of her own energy to help. She and Senya are in the infirmary, and Vaylin came back with us.”

“Well, what about Arcann?” Koth folded his arms, glancing at the rest of his crew, out of earshot across the bridge. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Arcann escaped, with Lord Castor.” Sethali rubbed her face in one hand. “I don’t know where they are. Tracking them down will be one of our first orders of business.”

“You sure the first order of business shouldn’t be securing the High Justice? Or at least, you know, having someone watch her? So she doesn’t have free reign of our base?” Koth scowled up at Sethali with something approaching accusation on his face. Sethali couldn’t blame him, but she would stand by her decision.

“Just because  _ I _ am not watching her doesn’t mean she isn’t being watched.” Sethali snapped. “Monitoring systems are being maintained by a few slicers Theron recommended. She won’t go anywhere near vital areas of the base without us knowing about it, at least for now.”

“Who’s going to stop her if she does?” Koth challenged. “We’ve seen what she can do--how are we supposed to be safe here with Vaylin around?”

“I’m not denying her ability.” Sethali folded her arms in a gesture to mirror Koth’s, squaring up. “But she chose to come with us. She could have chosen to go anywhere else. Her relationship with Senya is complicated at best--I doubt she came along to keep tabs on her.”

“No, she came along to gut us from the inside!” Koth retorted. “Am I the only one who has a problem with this?”

“No, you’re not.” Sethali shot back. “But I stand by my choice to bring her here. If she proves to be an enemy, we’ll deal with her, but I won’t kill her without giving her  _ some _ kind of choice to do better.”

“Does she even know how?” the question was dry, almost scathing, and Sethali’s ire rose.

“Does anyone know how to start coming back from the life she’s led?” Sethali snapped. “No. But she’s chosen to learn how, at least. She’s  _ here _ . That has to count for something.”

“Yeah.” Koth rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s something, all right.”

An uncomfortable quiet settled around them, and a few of Koth’s crew had begun shooting them curious glances. She’d be surprised if rumors hadn’t already started circulating around the base about her decision, as well as Lord Castor’s absence.

Turning on her heel, Sethali strode from the bridge in time for her holocom to start ringing. Picking up the call, Darth Syron emerged, and folded her arms. She didn’t look happy, and Sethali’s mood dropped further.

Darth Syron, Natalle Vir before her rise to the Council, was one of the youngest Dark Council members to attain the rank at the time the Eternal Fleet began their initial campaigns, and her appearance reflected it--her ginger hair, cropped into a choppy bob, was free of any gray or white, and her face, covered by a mask where her eyes would have been, had only acne scars for markings, not a single wrinkle to be found.

Her dark gray robes shifted around her as she said, “Commander, I appreciate you bringing me challenges every now and then, but I’d have much preferred another conscious healer to help me with all this. Even Kahla. Doctor Oggurobb is  _ insufferable _ when he waxes medical, in  _ my _ infirmary, no less. At least Kahla kept her comments mostly informative.”

Sethali could have pointed out the irony in that statement coming from Darth Syron, of all people, but chose to let it be. “What’s Kahla’s status? I’m hanging up if you only called to complain, Nat.”

One of Natalle’s brows arched over her eye mask. “ _ Someone’s _ in a prickly mood today. Kahla’s stable, as is Senya Tirall, but they’re not showing any signs of regaining consciousness anytime soon. Doctor Oggurobb and I are continuing to monitor them.”

“I want updates whenever you have them.” Sethali said as she took the lift down from the  _ Gravestone’ _ s dry-dock, headed for the landing pads just outside Odessen base’s main area.

“You can look in on them yourself in person, when you show up for your after-mission check.” Natalle’s pursed lips, lined with dark cosmetics, brooked no argument, but Sethali prepared to attempt it anyway.

“I have a war room meeting, and I’m not injured, just tired.” Sethali said flatly. “I’d rather you kept an eye on Kahla and Senya.”

“Lana told me you’ve been staving off migraines with combat stims for days.” Natalle shot back briskly, and Sethali cursed under her breath, “I’m not even particularly concerned about the practical applications of that method--it works, for a while--but I  _ am _ concerned with the fact if you take another combat stim within the next twelve hours, you  _ will _ have a reaction. Your brain can’t handle that many chemicals being--”

“All  _ right _ .” Sethali snapped. Natalle was one of the few who knew about Sethali’s struggle with her Castellan restraints during her tenure with Imperial Intelligence, and Natalle only knew about it because her nosiness led her to uncover some of the records left over from when Intelligence had been dissolved.

Sethali was torn between whether it was the best or worst thing to come from Intelligence being dismantled. Part of her, most of her, wanted those records to stay gone, and knew that if no one knew about this weakness, this potentially crippling chink in her armor, it was ultimately safer for Sethali herself.

But, on the other hand, Sethali admitted to herself grudgingly as she changed course and headed for the infirmary, Natalle finding out about it meant Sethali now had a new potential avenue for having the conditioning removed for good. Natalle had warned Sethali when she’d first brought the idea to her attention several years ago that the chances were slim, especially after Sethali had reconditioned herself to not accept any more commands, but Sethali didn’t care about the odds.

She’d take any odds to be free.

Odessen’s infirmary was unusually quiet, and Sethali’s fingers twitched near her blaster pistol before Natalle came sweeping out of a side room. “Good, you’re here.” she said briskly, ushering Sethali briskly into the tiny room that passed for Natalle and Kahla’s joint office in the infirmary. “If I had to hear Doctor Oggurobb question my methods one more time in the next five minutes--”

Amused, Sethali pointed out, “Having second opinions isn’t a bad thing, Nat.”

Natalle snorted and planted fists upon hips. “I know what I’m doing, Commander. You wouldn’t have put me in charge of your infirmary, otherwise.”

“I put you and Kahla in charge.” Sethali reminded her with a slight smirk, well aware of the reaction she’d get.

“Don’t spoil it, Commander. Let me enjoy this while it lasts.” Natalle grinned crookedly. “Now then...let’s see about getting rid of those headaches for a while.”

While Natalle linked her hands and began to glow with violet Force energy, Sethali leaned against Kahla’s vacant desk casually, as casually as she could manage, at least. “So I imagine you’ve heard the rumors about who we brought back from Voss.”

“Certainly.” Natalle replied cheerfully. “It’s fairly obvious you’ve brought the High Justice here. I’ve never seen this base so on-edge.”

“I’ll deal with her if this turns into a problem.” Sethali’s tone turned more defensive, and she folded her arms, staring at the floor. “But I won’t--”

“Sethali.” Sethali was brought up short by Natalle’s use of her name, and she stopped as the former Dark Lord broke her trance to fold her arms loosely. “You’re in charge because you’re prepared to face the consequences for your choices. I tried that once and it didn’t really work out for me.” Natalle’s grin was still lopsided, but it wasn’t as insincere as it normally was. “If you chose to bring the High Justice here, even if I disagree, I think you must have a very good reason for it.” Before Sethali could respond, Natalle linked her hands again. “Now quit interrupting me. You have a war room meeting, you know.”

Sethali rolled her eyes. “I am aware of that, you know.”

Silence fell while Natalle focused her energy again, and while Sethali couldn’t  _ see _ the effort Natalle was exerting anymore, she could feel it, and the pressure in her scalp relaxed. She let out an involuntary sigh of relief when Natalle unfolded her hands and planted them on her hips once again.

“Better than a combat stim, I’d wager?” Natalle asked innocently.

Sethali’s glare held no impact, and Natalle’s grin didn’t diminish. “I can’t very well drag our best healer around wherever Alliance business takes me.”

“Fair enough.” Natalle rolled her shoulders. “Kahla and Senya are in the next two rooms down the hall. I’ll tap you if Lana comes calling.”

Odessen’s infirmary ranked as one of the most pleasant Sethali had ever been in, and she wasn’t particularly fond of infirmaries in general. The walls were still a rugged stone, much like the rest of the cliffside base, but sealed in by thick, medical-grade transparisteel to keep some of the more delicate tools stored nearby in working order. It hadn’t lost that earthy smell, though, and Sethali breathed it deeply in as she made the brief trip from Natalle’s office to where she’d said Kahla and Senya had been placed.

Kahla was first, and Sethali almost couldn’t go in when she saw Kahla’s status. Natalle claimed Kahla was stable, and that was more than most likely true--for all her boasting, Natalle was usually almost as good as she claimed--but it was different to hear it out of Natalle’s confident mouth, in her confident words, and see Kahla herself, curled halfway into a ball, face drawn and tired and somehow still pinched with pain at the brows, asleep.

If Natalle said Kahla was stable, then it was simply a matter of Kahla regaining consciousness, but there had been no timetable displayed to indicate when that might be. There were some things, it seemed, that were beyond even Natalle’s knowledge or ability to guess.

Eventually, Sethali palmed the door control and took a single step inside, turning to watch the door shut seamlessly behind her. She didn’t know what to say, but felt something  _ needed _ to be said.

How many times had Kahla kept up constant streams of conversation with their wounded, keeping them conscious while they received the healing that probably saved their lives? How many times had Natalle pestered Kahla about her need to talk to so many people that they treated, passing time before they were safe to discharge back into duty? Silence was something that should never have settled in Kahla’s presence for long. It felt  _ wrong _ , and deeply unsettling, for Odessen’s infirmary to be silent.

“Too quiet in here.” Yuhanos remarked.

Sethali jumped and put a hand on her chest in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d imagine the same thing you are.” Yuhanos shrugged sheepishly. “Though I apologize if I snuck up on you. It isn’t typically an issue.”

“It’s fine, I was just...” Sethali shook her head, “...lost in thought, I suppose. But I guess I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

Yuhanos shook his head slowly. “Strange to see Kahla...like this.”

Sethali folded her arms tightly against her chest and didn’t respond, changing the subject. “I’m sorry about Cass.”

“What do you mean?” Yuhanos seemed genuinely surprised, and that somehow made it worse. He  _ should _ blame her for this, because Lord Castor had been his friend for nearly a decade, and because she had been in charge, and the the losses were hers to deal with. “She’s not dead, Sethali, or even hurt. I’d know if she was.”

Sethali couldn’t say  _ “That’s irrelevant,” _ because it  _ was _ relevant--it meant Lord Castor could still be found and brought back to the Alliance. Whether it would be a rescue or not, in the truest sense of the word, was yet to be determined. “I know,” was all she said in the end, and left it at that.

“ _ There _ you two are.” Lana’s exasperated voice made both Yuhanos and Sethali turn over their shoulders in near-unison, and she continued, “We’re about ready to get the war room meeting started.”

“I have to see Senya.” Sethali said firmly.

“She’ll still be here when you get back.” Lana replied, not unkindly. “We need to find Vaylin, as well--she has information we need.”

Sethali tapped her earpiece and said, “Theron? Have you got a minute?”

“Uh, yeah, let me just get someone else to watch our newest charge.” he replied.

“That’s what I need to know--where’s Vaylin?”

“Where she was three hours ago, apparently--one of those clear domes we kept the anti-aircraft guns on. Should I send someone...?”

“I’ll go.” Sethali said, cutting across Lana’s objection with a glare. “See you in the war room soon.”

“You shouldn’t go by yourself.” Lana said with pursed lips.

“If she wanted to kill me in full view of the Alliance,” Sethali said with a small measure of exasperation as she left Kahla’s room, “she’s had ample opportunity. I’ll see you in the war room.”

* * *

Vaylin was only dimly aware of the sun setting rapidly in the horizon, but the last thing she wanted was to return to that underground residence block--claustrophobic, tight, constricting--and wait to be told what to do, by these people who had no real right to do so.

She tugged her hood more tightly over her head, and it obstructed the sun from her view, blocked some of the ambient noise from the base below. She was alone, somehow far away from them though they remained in earshot. It was a relief in some ways, unbearably isolated in others.

Vaylin doubted she was truly alone here, though. Just because there wasn’t someone hovering by her shoulder to keep an eye on her didn’t mean she wasn’t being monitored. The thought made her skin crawl, and she idly scratched at her forearms, the tattoos hidden by her long sleeves.

“Vaylin?”

Turning her body halfway around, Vaylin saw the Alliance Commander down below, one hand resting idly on her hip as she regarded Vaylin with an even stare. “What do you want?” she demanded suspiciously.

“We’re starting the war room meeting.” Vaylin was half-convinced that she had simply imagined the Commander looking a hundred years older in that lighting beneath the base’s surface, because there was no trace of it anymore. It was almost annoying, how obviously unflappable she tried to be, and, for the most part, clearly succeeded at. “We’d appreciate your input.”

“You would, would you?” Vaylin turned fully around and pulled her legs up to her chest again, draping her arms over her knees. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather keep me under surveillance a while longer?”

She arched a brow. “Are you telling me you’d be doing something different in my place?”

Vaylin wouldn’t, but didn’t want to give the Commander the satisfaction of admitting as much. “What could I possibly know that might help you right now?”

“You might have some idea where your brother went. You probably know who might step up to take charge on Zakuul now you and Arcann aren’t there. You might also know the best ways to stop them from doing us any more harm while we repair and rest.” the Commander shrugged. “And that’s just off the top of my head.”

Now Vaylin was even more annoyed, and not particularly inclined towards helping her. “Well, why  _ should _ I, then?”

“That’s up to you.” the Commander told her without missing a beat. “You’re still here, though I don’t honestly know why. Your presence is appreciated, but your reasons are still your own. As long as my people aren’t endangered, that’s acceptable.”

Vaylin cast about for another way to delay going back underground to that cavernous war room, and came up empty. Lip curving down into a disappointed scowl, Vaylin leaped gracefully and landed right in front of the Commander, who didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. There was a part of Vaylin that was oddly satisfied, seeing solid evidence, even from something this small, that the Commander was no spineless figurehead.

“Well, lead the way.” Vaylin made a grand gesture with one hand. “I’m your guest, after all.”

Odessen’s war room was clear of most of the distractions Vaylin had seen on their brief pass through during their arrival. Above the holoprojector floated the image of a planet that Vaylin didn’t have to see up close to know it was Zakuul.

“Good, you’re here.” the blonde-haired Sith lord--Lana, if Vaylin remembered correctly--approached the Commander first. “Unfortunately we haven’t discovered much that might tell us where Lord Castor and Arcann fled to, but the Lord Wrath has assured us that she’s still very much alive.”

“He’s said the same to me.” the Commander replied briskly. “What about the fleet? What about SCORPIO?”

“Interesting development for you,” the dark-haired slicer in the red jacket, former Republic agent Theron Shan, handed the Commander a datapad, which she skimmed quickly before looking back up, “most of the fleet isn’t actually near Zakuul. A small battlegroup is still in orbit, but nowhere near the amount there usually is.”

“Nothing more from SCORPIO, then?” the Commander’s lip downturned slightly with concentration as she took a closer look at the datapad.

“No, nothing, but we’ll keep looking.” Theron replied. “So where does that leave us?”

“That largely depends on what Vaylin can tell us.” the Commander turned to regard Vaylin, then, as did most of the war room’s occupants, and Vaylin folded her arms tightly over her chest with a scowl.

“Well, go on, then.” Vaylin snapped. “What do you want?”

“Mostly, who’s in charge on Zakuul right now.” in a gesture similar to Vaylin’s own, the Commander folded her arms, but loosely, comfortably. It was a parallel that Vaylin didn’t know if she wanted to acknowledge--that one of them was secure, safe in this environment, and the other was uncertain.

“Probably one of the Exarchs.” Vaylin shrugged. “They did like squabbling amongst themselves about nearly everything. Kind of entertaining, sometimes. Wouldn’t surprise me to hear they’re squabbling about the throne now.”

With a thoughtful frown, the Commander turned to address Theron. “Exarchs run the Star Fortresses, don’t they? I’m somewhat behind on my intel.”

“They were one of my brother’s pet projects.” Vaylin forced herself to uncross her arms, present some kind of picture to these people that wasn’t as pathetic and unsure as the one before. “He took our best Knights, put some cybernetics in them, and gave them the Star Fortresses. Of course, most of them we recruited didn’t live.”

“So the augmentation they went through had a high mortality rate.” the Commander tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. “Those who survived would’ve had to be very strong.” her gaze turned to Vaylin again, and she asked, “Did you know them very well?”

“Well enough.” Vaylin replied cagily. “We weren’t friends.”

“What the Commander is trying to ask is whether you might know which one of them is most likely to make a power move for the throne.” Lana finished.

It was a good question, Vaylin had to admit, and one she didn’t have an immediate answer to. Under their scrutiny, she felt like shrinking again, but refused to be cowed by them. “I don’t know!” she finally snarled. “What makes you think I have all the answers?”

“Not all of them, maybe.” the Commander replied patiently. “But you were closest to the throne. You know more than us, and what you know could help us plan for the immediate future.”

Vaylin breathed, and thought again about the Exarchs. There was Zar Draya, from Alderaan; Forta Gair, from Belsavis; Tarso Gren, from Tatooine--

But the question wasn’t  _ really _ who the sole voice leading the Empire would be. The Alliance only cared about threats, about complications, and while all of the Exarchs Vaylin remembered well would’ve been ambitious and certainly could have taken the throne for themselves, they weren’t the biggest threat, not on their own.

“Exarch Vyrint.” Vaylin declared flatly at last. “She’s in charge of the Corellia Star Fortress.”

Theron was already checking something on his datapad when the Commander turned to ask him, “What do you have on her?”

“Not much.” Theron sounded confused more than anything, and looked back up. “Just some basic background on how she became a Knight, not much else.”

“So just how is Exarch Vyrint the biggest threat if we’re only just now hearing about her?” Lana arched a brow, and Vaylin grinned.

“You see, Exarch Vyrint may not be the most  _ ambitious _ Exarch we had,” she said, leaning her weight on one foot with her arms folded a little more loosely than before, “but she  _ does _ have an uncanny habit of bringing people together.”

A dawning look of realization crossed the Commander’s face. “She could unite the Exarchs,” she said, reaching for a datapad sitting on the war room’s table, “and if she did, she could conceivably gather all the resources that the Star Fortresses were originally delivering to Arcann.”

“She doesn’t have a fleet,” Theron pointed out, “which, I’d like to mention, is a  _ pretty _ important part of trying to stop us from...stopping her.”

“We don’t know what her motives are yet.” Lana took the Commander’s datapad and made a single note before handing it back. “But just because she doesn’t have a fleet doesn’t mean she won’t find another way to strike at us.”

“We’ll be on the lookout for her, but there’s not much we can do right now besides get the  _ Gravestone _ operational again and listen for any chatter that says where SCORPIO might have taken the rest of the fleet.” the Commander set her datapad back down on the table. “Unless we have anything else to discuss, we’ll reconvene when we have more intel.”

“Am I free to go, then?” it was only half-facetious, and Vaylin expected to be firmly told otherwise, but the Commander smiled a little.

“In a moment.” the Commander indicated the elevator out of the war room. “Would you walk with me for a moment?”

Vaylin didn’t know what the Commander could possibly have to talk about with her that wasn’t related to any of their current missions, but sighed. “Oh, fine. Seems like you’ll never run out of questions.”

Odessen was approaching sunset, and the sky was lit up in a riot of colors--royal purple, fiery orange, deep rose and scarlet and indigo. Vaylin could make out the silhouette of the treeline on the mountain ridge, but the shadows obscured everything else.

Whereas the silence earlier, sitting atop that transparisteel dome, had felt isolated and somehow peaceful, the silence sitting between Vaylin and the Commander was heavy, charged, and Vaylin fidgeted, idly popping her fingers waiting for the Commander to speak.

“There’s a survey expedition leaving tomorrow morning.” Vaylin couldn’t have been more caught off-guard by the Commander’s choice of topic, but her curiosity got the better of her, so she listened. “I wanted to see if you’d maybe like to go.”

“Why would you think I’d want to?” Vaylin scoffed.

With a careless wave, the Commander indicated the greenery, lit by fading light, that stretched far away from the base. “While we’ve settled on Odessen for some time, we’re still discovering new things about its species--flora and fauna both--so we take survey expeditions when we can spare the resources, to learn more about it.” with a shrug, the Commander turned and looked at Vaylin, but Vaylin was still watching the colors of the sunset shift with every passing minute. “And I thought you might want to go because you spent over an hour sitting up on that dome. You get a better view from the ground.”

Vaylin’s gaze whipped over to the Commander, who had a faintly teasing grin on her face, but she was unmoved. They weren’t friends, and the Commander’s attempts to pretend otherwise were fruitless. “I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?”

“Of course you do.” the Commander’s grin faded, but a shadow of it remained. “We’re leaving at noon, if you decide you want to go.”

And then she left, turning and walking back in the direction of the infirmary, based on the directions the Commander herself gave her earlier today. Vaylin didn’t want to go there, not yet, perhaps not ever.

Neither did she want to go back inside the base, to that barren and empty room, but tomorrow, she could see Odessen.

As far as choices went, that was a simple enough one.

* * *

The  _ Doombringer _ was a decidedly noisy ship.

Arcann followed the zabrak woman down winding corridors, immaculately kept but still clearly lived in by crew members. Eternal Fleet ships were entirely automated, and not equipped for human passengers. It was clear Darth Imperius’ ship was not a new one, fresh off the production lines. Officers making small talk passed by with cursory glances their direction. Rumbling engines provided a steady white noise. The gravity regulators reset as they walked and Arcann’s stomach flipped with vertigo.

“So,” the zabrak woman--he’d heard her name in the docking bay, and couldn’t conjure it up now--drawled as they turned a corner, “guess you’re a long way from home.”

He didn’t know if it was an attempt to unbalance him, an attempt to make him homesick, of all things, but it was a fairly weak one. “Yes, I suppose so.” was all he said in response.

“So are we.” one hand, gloved in scaled, dark leather, smacked a door control carelessly. “But hey, stick around long enough, anywhere starts to feel like home.” Before Arcann could respond, she belted out, “Iona! Got our special guest here!”

“Zoai, the door chime told me you were here, I don’t--” a petite Twi’lek woman with pinkish-orange skin, robed in deep violet and rosy orange, rounded a corner and froze.

Zoai snorted. “Wish I had a holo of your face right now.”

Arcann felt the tension in the room rise as the Twi’lek--Iona, he presumed--narrowed her eyes. “Is Lord Castor here?”

“Yep.” Zoai slumped into a nearby chair and balanced her ankle on a medical examination table. “They’re staying for a while.”

“Remind me to tell her she has truly awful timing.” Iona rubbed her face in one hand. “I assume we’re taking measurements to replace that prosthetic?”

She was businesslike, and Arcann could appreciate her lack of questions. “Yes.”

“Well,” Iona sighed slightly, “let’s get started.”

Then proceeded a very detailed and very intricate measuring process that both Iona and Zoai, surprisingly enough, appeared to be taking seriously. They each held datapads and made notes as they worked, and when their discussion descended mostly into technical terms about hydraulics and power sources, he found his attention wandering.

Swiftly, he focused it again and raised his guard, kicking himself for the momentary lapse. Their welcome here had nearly turned into a disaster, and might have ended quite differently without Lord Castor’s intervention. He had to remember that these people did not trust him, and he had no real reason to trust them, yet.

“I see your point here,” Arcann began paying more attention to the conversation right as Iona frowned at Zoai’s datapad, tapping a line of text, “but there’s a possibility for hydraulics failure if we do it this way.”

Zoai snorted. “Only if he’s planning on like, crushing someone’s head with his hand. Hey,” Zoai turned over her shoulder suddenly to look at him, arm draped over the back of her chair casually, “you planning on crushing anyone’s head with this new arm?”

Arcann didn’t know if the zabrak smuggler was joking, but the mild look on Iona’s face said she probably wasn’t--no, that Iona was even  _ accustomed _ to such lines of questioning. “No.” he finally ventured. “I don’t believe so.”

Zoai turned back around. “See, there you go. Problem solved.”

Iona huffed and shook her head slightly with a small grin, but made a note on Zoai’s datapad before handing it back.

Arcann sensed Darth Imperius’ presence a few seconds before she emerged, passing a quick glance over him before settling on Iona and Zoai. “I assume everything’s going well in here?”

“Yes, we’ve taken measurements and begun the technical work.” Iona reported quietly. “Yevari, what’s going on here?”

Darth Imperius looked over at him again, and Arcann tensed. “Do you want to tell them, or shall I?” she asked. Her expression remained neutral, there was nothing mocking or derisive in the question, but Arcann got the feeling he was being tested anyway.

“A healing ritual on Voss backfired.” Arcann finally said, flatly. “Seny--my mother, and one of your lords, Kahla, helped complete it.”

Iona’s blue-purple eyes widened with shock and immeasurable relief, and it took Arcann aback slightly. “Kahla’s alive?”

Lord Castor had claimed Lord Kahla had survived the healing ritual, and there was nothing to disprove the notion. “Yes. Last I knew, at least.” he paused a beat, and asked, “Did you know her?”

“She was my master.” Iona’s shoulders relaxed, like a heavy weight had been lifted from them. “We’d been working together for years. I never knew what happened to her when I left Imperial space with Yevari.”

Zoai reached across the table and rubbed Iona’s shoulder. “See, told you she’d probably be out there somewhere.”

“I’m headed up to the bridge, and then I’m turning in.” Darth Imperius changed the subject, but something in her face relaxed and became less imposing, more open. “We’ll decide what to do tomorrow, when Cass wakes up.”

“Hope she’ll have more answers for us.” Zoai muttered. “Feels like we’re flying blind.”

Darth Imperius quirked a brow. “I thought you’d be used to that, Zo. Isn’t that what you did your whole career?”

Zoai sputtered indignantly as Iona laughed. “Excuse you, I’ll have you know I was flying blind only  _ half _ the time!”

Despite himself, Arcann smiled just a little, safely hidden underneath the mask. He didn’t know how far he was willing to trust these people, but after Lord Castor had determinedly chased him down, brought him here, and two of her people--her  _ friends _ \--were working on a way to  _ help _ him, well...

Perhaps, at the very least, it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter before the new year, and it feels like a good place to stop until January, when things will hopefully start getting more interesting. Updates re: writing progress will typically be found on my tumblr, @highjustices.
> 
> Iona'vol belongs to Dawn, who was kind enough to let me borrow her for story-telling purposes!
> 
> Happy New Year!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for the time gap between chapters to be this long, but one thing led to another--sudden illness, an unsuccessful job hunt, finally a vacation--and I didn't get the chance to work on this except in passing. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait, and I plan to get back into a more regular posting schedule soon.

_ As they pulled the strings, Sethali danced. _

_ In some form or another, she had always been someone else’s to control, since those tender, angry years when she had no family and wanted to make those who had put her in that situation hurt, as much as she was capable of hurting them. _

_ But when Lord Vani had taken her off the streets of Nar Shaddaa to fill a void in her own cold, bitter heart, invisible strings had been bound around Sethali’s wrists, ankles, arms, legs, and wherever they tugged, Sethali was bound to follow, like a marionette dressed up for others’ entertainment. _

_ The hands that held the strings changed, and so did the faces in her dreams. First Lord Vani’s, then Keeper’s, then Darth Jadus and Ardun Kothe’s and Hunter’s. _

_ Now, Valkorion held her strings, and he haunted her far more in her sleeping hours than her waking ones. _

_ “You can’t control me.” Sethali felt like she screamed it into the darkness, when it came out as nothing more than a whisper. “You’re stuck in  _ my _ head, not the other way around.” _

_ “You speak as though it makes a difference whether I am bound to you or vice versa.” his voice mocked her, like she was a stupid child. _

_ “It does.” she insisted. “It  _ does _.” _

_ A cruel laugh echoed loudly enough that Sethali flinched. “Are you certain?” _

 

Sethali found the ties that bound her to her past were always strongest in her sleep.

When she sat up, Valkorion’s laughter following her into wakefulness for a few brief seconds before it faded at last, Sethali rubbed her face in both her shaking hands, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing, trying to steady them.

Whether by Valkorion’s influence or simply bad luck, her time in carbonite had intensified her night terrors, and even Kahla’s extensive hours of research yielded no answers or solutions. The chrono mounted on the wall told her it was just before three in the morning, which meant she’d gotten barely four hours of sleep, and the burn of fatigue in her eyes confirmed it.

Casting her blankets aside and raking a hand through her hair, Sethali picked up her long jacket from her desk chair and didn’t bother to tie her hair back before heading into the base proper.

Night patrols were out, and they acknowledged her as she passed, but at this time of night, Odessen base was quiet. Normally Sethali found the silence refreshing, but tonight it felt unbearably lonely.

She found herself in the infirmary, and the light on Natalle’s desk was out. Carefully striding past the makeshift office she and Kahla shared, Sethali made it to Kahla’s room undisturbed.

Someone had moved a chair inside, and Sethali sat in it woodenly, too tired to speak but too anxious to attempt rest. She didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but Kahla looked slightly better than she had earlier--she wasn’t sleeping curled up in a ball, but laying flat on her back, head turned to the side with the crease in her brow mercifully missing.

Infinitesimally reassured, Sethali let her posture slouch, and sunk down further into the chair, stretching out her legs beneath Kahla’s bunk. An empty chill, the kind Sethali found common in hospitals, hung heavily in the air, promising drizzle in a few hours. Sethali pulled her jacket around her shoulders just a little tighter.

“And just what do you think you’re doing awake?”

Sethali jumped and turned her head to see Natalle standing in the doorway, arms folded with a scowl on her face. Her ginger hair was slightly mussed and her robes were crooked, as though they’d been thrown on haphazardly in a rush.

“Nightmare.” Sethali said flatly, and returned to watching Kahla’s monitors, though she didn’t understand any of the information on them. It was better than looking Natalle in the face and admitting she didn’t have as much control over her additional passenger as she thought.

Natalle was silent for a moment, then said, “You know, I doubt these are  _ just _ nightmares, Commander.”

“I know.” Sethali replied, voice dull and empty, hoping it was a clear enough indicator she didn’t want to discuss the topic.

“You told me yourself that your night terrors only got worse after your time in carbonite.” Natalle didn’t seem inclined to drop it, however, and Sethali’s mood darkened even further. “And you did spend five years fighting his influence.”

“I  _ know _ .” Sethali turned her head again and knew the pained expression on her face finally got through, as Natalle fell silent as well. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, changing the subject, “Anyway, what are  _ you _ doing awake? You look like you just woke up.”

“I did. Thanks for noticing.” Natalle replied, dry humor lacing her words with some of her usual biting tone. “I thought of a journal a Jedi scholar recently wrote on Voss healing techniques right when I was about to doze off. I got up to research it. Thought it might have something to help Kahla and Senya.”

“Any luck?” Sethali assumed not, but perhaps Natalle had been coming in to heal Kahla with her newfound knowledge.

Natalle shook her head, though, and Sethali’s heart sank. “No. Kahla’s been slowly but steadily improving. She’ll hopefully wake up in the next few days. Senya...” Natalle trailed off, and her typical mask of confidence slipped for a split second before she shook herself a little, and Sethali wondered if she’d only imagined it, “...I just don’t know, to be perfectly frank with you, Commander. I’ll keep doing all I can, but she powered a significant bulk of the ritual.”

The air felt heavier, and this time Sethali didn’t think it was just the humidity from outside. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the words ‘I don’t know’ before, Nat.” Sethali joked weakly.

Natalle huffed. “Yes, yes, there’s some things even I don’t know. Satisfied?” After a beat of quiet, Natalle added, “There’s nothing you can do here.”

Sethali sighed deeply. “I know that.”

But Sethali still didn’t leave, and Natalle didn’t say anything else, and finally Natalle left briefly, returning with another chair, which she set in the opposite corner of the room. “I’m monitoring.” Natalle claimed when Sethali arched a brow. “In case something happens.”

“Right.” Sethali didn’t say that she knew Natalle and Kahla’s office terminals could pull up monitor readouts in mere seconds, knew that she wasn’t the only one worried about the unspoken fear that there was nothing she could do, as the Alliance’s most skilled healer, and that her inability to do anything would lead to tragedy.

But Sethali didn’t say anything, merely stretched her feet out beneath Kahla’s bunk again, as the room fell into easy silence. She knew the feeling all too well.

* * *

 

The wall chrono’s alarm started to go off, and Yevari had never hated it more.

Not for the first time, she was tempted to rip the whole thing off the wall and get a few more hours of pure, uninterrupted sleep, but knew it would just cause more work for Moff Pyron’s people, and waste resources they couldn’t really replenish.

Ashara shifted at Yevari’s back and mumbled, “It’s morning already?”

“Apparently.” Yevari muttered, yanking her pillow over her head irritably. Morning meant her early rounds on the bridge, engineering, turbolaser control, and then breakfast. It meant she would have to talk to Cassaire and learn exactly what had been going on since the Wrath’s Hand and all their allies fled the Empire. It meant she would have to acknowledge the fact the former Emperor whose war caused her and her allies to be sent on the run in the first place was here, on her ship, as a  _ guest _ .

Yevari felt Ashara’s hand rest on her bare shoulder and heard her voice, muffled by the pillow over her head, “You’re procrastinating, Yev.”

“Maybe.” Yevari replied shiftily, moving the pillow enough she could look Ashara in the face, just in time for a look of faint exasperation to cross it.

“You’re procrastinating.” Ashara shook Yevari’s shoulder slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Reluctantly, Yevari moved her pillow underneath her head again and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with her fingers laced over her stomach.  _ Did _ she want to talk about it? A week ago, she’d thought one of her closest friends was likely dead and the other missing. Now they were both alive, but that still left a year’s worth of events to fill in.

“It’s good to have Cass back,” Yevari began at last, “but I’m concerned about what happened to her when...”

Yevari trailed off, but Ashara didn’t need to finish the statement. The raid on their only remaining safehouse on Dromund Kaas was still fresh in their minds, over a year after it had taken place.

“I doubt she’ll say anything.” Yevari turned her head and looked up at Ashara, who was resting on propped-up elbows. “And that just makes me more worried.”

“What about the Alliance Cass mentioned Sethali is in charge of?” Ashara’s brow wrinkled pensively. “Do you want to join it?”

Yevari thought. “Yes,” she said slowly, “but how soon I join it depends on what Cass can tell me about the last year. Not to mention,” she added dryly, “his Majesty said he refuses to face Sethali, though why, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Shame, maybe.” Ashara’s hand, slowly stroking up and down Yevari’s shoulder, threatened to lull her back into sleep, but with effort, she resisted its draw.

“Maybe.” Yevari mumbled, rapidly losing the battle with her drowsiness. She reached up to what she thought was Ashara’s shirt and tugged slightly, encouraging her to lay back down. “Go to sleep. I’m skipping my morning rounds.”

And it seemed like Ashara might have been planning to do just that when the intercom crackled to life. “My lord?”

Yevari growled and rolled over, jabbing the intercom button with enough force she was mildly concerned she’d cracked it. “I’m  _ busy _ , Pyron.”

“This is urgent, my lord.” came the strained response, even through the faint static of the intercom. Yevari tensed, and Ashara sat up behind her. “I sent the  _ Celestial Shadow _ ahead to scout our next route, and they’ve dropped out of contact for fifteen minutes now.”

“They’ve missed a check-in, then.” Yevari scowled. When first departing Imperial space, Yevari had instituted a new rule among what remained of her fleet’s ships--if one ship was sent out alone, they were to check in within ten minutes of their departure, assuming they hadn’t been blown into shards of molten metal, adrift in the void. “Raise the ship to alert status. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”

The intercom fizzled out and Yevari lay back for a few seconds, eyes closed, gathering her willpower. “Guess we’re taking a rain check on sleeping in.”

Ruefully, Yevari rolled to a sitting position and let her legs drape over the side of her bed. “Yes. I suppose the world  _ would _ fall apart without us even for just one morning.”

Ashara laughed and took her robe from where she’d draped it over Yevari’s desk chair the night before. “See you in a bit.”

Yevari was no stranger to crises--indeed, her whole life had been a procession of them for the past several years now--but before, she’d once had the support of the Empire behind her, a vast domain at her command. Out here, she was alone, with only her fleet for support--though with the losses they’d taken during the Eternal Empire’s initial campaign, it was more like the size of a battlegroup, not even a true fleet--and every threat was something she was forced to take seriously. Out here, even a small loss was catastrophic because it could not be replenished. If nothing else, it had taught her caution, to a fault.

The lightsaber in Yevari’s hand provided the most security she’d felt today, and she attached it to her belt, taking brisk, half-jogging strides toward the bridge. The officers she passed conversed tensely with one another, offering perfunctory greetings that Yevari half-heartedly returned, too intently focused on the present situation to care about decorum--not that she tended to enforce it all that strictly anyway.

“We bring Cass on board,” Yevari groused as the elevator door to the bridge slid open, “and then we can’t go a  _ day _ without a crisis.”

“Personally, I think having Cass back keeps things interesting.” Zoai commented cheerfully, leaning on one of the navigation consoles, much to the consternation of the navigation officer manning it. “I was starting to get bored out here.”

She fell into step behind Yevari, though, as she ascended the final stairs to the bridge’s overlook. “Any word from the  _ Shadow? _ ” Yevari asked Pyron, who was leaning over a communication officer’s console.

“No, my lord, but we’re detecting multiple ships about to exit hyperspace. Their classification is Imperial.” Pyron straightened as Yevari folded her arms, lips pursed.

“I see.” was all Yevari said, though the two words were brittle and cold.

It was no coincidence for Imperial ships to be out here, in Wild Space, when Yevari had specifically chosen random jump zones and never stayed in one place longer than a few days at most. Cassaire would rather have died than give up her fleet’s location to Acina, and she had been the only possibility for a leak when she’d been left behind, after the Wrath’s Hand and all its allies fled Dromund Kaas.

The only real explanation was that a traitor was planted on her fleet, but why wait until now to signal their location? Why wait over a year after their escape from Imperial space to spring a trap?

“Zo,” Yevari said quietly, and Zoai immediately straightened and got close enough to Yevari she only had to whisper to be heard, “When we’re out of this mess, get into this ship’s communications and find anything out of the ordinary. And find Cass, if you can.”

Zoai glanced uneasily around the bridge, and finally nodded once, sharply. “On my way.”

“Pyron, how long before those Imperial ships exit hyperspace?” Yevari’s voice returned to its usual volume as Zoai left the bridge, and she squashed her doubts down as far as she could. If there was a traitor on her fleet, they would be found and dealt with, but she had a potentially hostile battlegroup to contend with in the meantime.

“Two minutes at most.” Pyron reported grimly.

Yevari closed her eyes and ran through her options. “Raise the fleet to battle-ready status, but charge the hyperdrive. We can’t afford to fight our way out, but if we sit and wait, the Imperial fleet will destroy us before we can leave.”

“We could divert power from the shields to charge the hyperdrive more quickly.” Pyron suggested hesitantly. Yevari understood the implication.

“If we do that, how long to charge the fleet’s hyperdrives in total?” Yevari asked, starting a slow pace across the bridge.

“The  _ Doombringer’ _ s hyperdrive would take the longest to charge.” Yevari’s engineering officer spoke up from her console. “The  _ Praetorian Scourge _ could depart the soonest, in less than thirty seconds. They’d be vulnerable whenever they emerged from hyperspace, however, as would the rest of the fleet.”

Yevari considered. “I don’t want to separate any more of the fleet for long. When all ships are prepared to jump, tell the  _ Scourge _ to plot a random course, send the other ships after it, and we’ll follow last. If it comes to a fight, the  _ Doombringer _ stands the best chance of making it out with minimal damage.”

“My lord,” Pyron ventured, “we  _ do _ still have the Silencer weapon--”

“Last resort.” Yevari said flatly. She’d elected to keep the Silencer weapons active with a skeleton crew, but their radiation output was starting to become more dangerous than the weapon was advantageous. It was still effective against standard Imperial vessels, however, even if it’d been all but useless against the Eternal Fleet.

“What’s happening?” Cassaire emerged from the deck’s elevator, followed closely by Zoai, and Yevari turned her head, hating herself for the question she was about to ask. “I heard the battle ready announcement.”

“Cass...” Yevari trailed off, planted hands upon hips, and stared at the deck for a moment before looking Cassaire in the eye. “...when you were on Dromund Kaas after the raid, and Acina captured you, did you...say anything?”

Silence fell and Cassaire’s jaw dropped for a moment before it snapped shut with a  _ click _ of teeth. Even Zoai stepped forward, stunned. “Yev...”

Yevari set her jaw and didn’t break eye contact. Cassaire opened and closed her mouth a few times, like she was trying to grasp for the words in her shock, but couldn’t quite arrange them into a full statement. Finally, she managed, dangerously low and quiet, “How  _ dare _ you?”

“I didn’t think you  _ would _ , Cass, but I have an Imperial battlegroup on the verge of appearing from hyperspace, that wouldn’t have known where we are unless someone told them.” Yevari folded her arms tightly and recognized it as a defensive gesture, but dismissed the thought. “It’s most likely that Acina or one of her supporters managed to plant someone on my ship before our departure, but I--”

“My lord!” Pyron interrupted, directing their attention to the holoprojector, “The Imperial fleet has emerged from hyperspace. A long-range signal is hailing us.”

“Not from the fleet, then.” Yevari muttered, quickly skimming over the list of ships present in the Imperial battlegroup and finding Acina’s vessel missing. “Not sure if that’s good or bad for us yet. Put the signal through.”

By the time Acina’s image appeared from Yevari’s holoprojector, Yevari had already put as much effort into looking disinterested as possible, resting her weight on her left side with one fist planted on the opposite hip, her other arm hanging loosely at her side. “Acina,” Yevari greeted her boredly, “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Darth Imperius,” Acina’s face twitched slightly with displeasure, so slight that Yevari half-thought she imagined it, “I believe it’s time to let go of our petty grudges and speak plainly.”

“We tried speaking plainly once before,” Yevari arched a brow with a dry grin, “and as I recall, it ended with you raiding our last safehouse and causing us to go into self-imposed exile for our own protection. Which, I’d like to add, isn’t exactly a trivial enough matter for us to have only a ‘petty’ grudge about.”

“You caused dissent in the Empire, and threatened a division of our ranks at a crucial time.” Acina retorted coolly. “But if you’re willing to discuss it, I’d like to put that behind us.”

“The battlegroup you sent clearly illustrates your good will.” Yevari’s brow crept higher, and Zoai snickered out of the holoprojector’s sensor range. “An escort for my fleet, I assume? I’m honored.”

“Do try to take this seriously, Darth Imperius.” Acina snapped. “Precautions had to be taken, and you would do no differently were you in my place.”

“Precautions...in case I say ‘no’?” Yevari shifted her weight to her opposite side and caught Cassaire fidgeting out of the corner of her eye. “I believe on Raider’s Cove this used to be called ‘coercion’.” Before Acina could attempt to deny it, though, Yevari continued, “I will admit to some curiosity, however. It seems strange for you to wait this long to find me.”

“I suppose you think I have nothing better to do than chase down errant Dark Council members,” Acina replied, a brisk chill in her words, “but I have been securing alliances for the good of this Empire’s future. An Empire you seem to have forgotten about.”

Yevari bit her tongue against the denial that immediately wanted to emerge, knew that Acina was baiting her into a reaction. Yevari wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. “So if I’m understanding this correctly, you want to put our past disagreements behind us and, what, bring me and my people back to the Empire? Are we  _ that _ desperate for ships?”

It had been asked in jest, but there were serious implications Yevari couldn’t ignore. The Eternal Throne’s grip on the rest of the galaxy had become a stranglehold shortly before Yevari’s departure from Imperial space, choking off economic growth at its roots. If Acina was truly reaching out with offers of reconciliation, things must have gotten desperate.

It was just as likely, however, that this was a trap of some kind. Yevari wouldn’t dismiss either possibility yet.

“Hardly--you do, however, as much as I hate to admit it, carry a great deal of influence among our people.” Acina admitted. “And, if your record is any indication, with other factions, as well.”

“Again, if I recall, that influence was what led us to where we are now.” Yevari straightened her posture this time and linked her hands behind her back. “The only reason you’d be contacting me now is if that influence was something you could exploit. And to be perfectly frank, I have no desire to be one of your pawns.”

No one spoke, and Moff Pyron made a gesture to get Yevari’s attention. She couldn’t afford to look away now--it would be a sure indicator she was plotting something--but Pyron was smart enough to see the game she was playing with Acina, buying time while waiting for the fleet’s hyperdrives to charge. He’d turned one of the monitors to show Yevari that the  _ Doombringer _ had forty-five more seconds to achieve a full hyperdrive charge--the rest of the fleet was ready for departure.

All she needed was an opening.

“Anyway,” Yevari slipped back into her disinterested tone, leaning her weight on one side again, “as entertaining as it’s been to catch up, Acina, I have places to be. End transmission.” As soon as Acina’s image vanished, Yevari let her posture slouch as she let out her breath in a rush. “Send the fleet out of here. Now! And will  _ someone _ get me word on the  _ Celestial Shadow _ ?”

“ _ Praetorian Scourge _ is away, my lord.” Yevari’s navigation officer spoke. “The Imperial flagship is moving to intercept the rest, and turbolasers are charging.”

“Attempting to hail the  _ Shadow _ , my lord...” her communications officer stared intently at his console for a few seconds before shaking his head, “...nothing. Our long-range sensors don’t have enough power to attempt broadcasting through there, but we can attempt it once we emerge from hyperspace.”

“Fine.” Yevari turned to Cassaire, about to ask if she’d mind checking up on their resident former emperor--in all the commotion, she’d forgotten that one of the Force-users on her ship was supposed to know what he was doing while aboard--when a swift jerk in the ship’s deck sent her to her hands and knees, the ship tilting sharply forward.

“Boarding pods, but I don’t read any life signs.” the operations officer smacked her console once, as though it was being intentionally belligerent. “Must be sabotage droids.”

“She wants to cover her tracks.” Yevari muttered. “Cass, would you...?”

“I’m on my way.” she said curtly, turning on her heel. Yevari doubted the topic of her questioning Cassaire’s resolve was closed just yet, but at the very least, Yevari knew she could count on Cassaire’s pragmatism in the meantime.

“The  _ Adasta Talon _ and  _ Sadow’s Wrath _ are away.” the navigation officer reported. “We’re the only ones left.”

“Did either the  _ Talon _ or the  _ Wrath _ report boarders?” Yevari felt anxiety churn in her gut even in the split seconds she waited for an answer. “Please tell me they didn’t.”

“No, my lord.” the officer confirmed. “No boarders were reported by either vessel.”

“That’s something, then.” Yevari muttered, but the attack and unusual transmission from Acina left her with more questions than answers.

She’d mentioned alliances, too, and Yevari doubted the Republic would be friendly enough with Acina for a long-term alliance. As far as Yevari knew, for the moment--until she finally managed to get caught up with Cassaire on what had happened during the past year--the only other faction Acina might want to throw her lot in with was the Alliance, headed by Sethali...who had once been one of Yevari’s closest allies, even if she hadn’t publicly declared herself a member of the Wrath’s Hand.

“Ah, I see.” Yevari said, more to herself than anyone aboard the bridge. “Clever,  _ very _ clever, Acina.”

“What is it?” Ashara asked, and Zoai tilted her head to the side, indicating she was paying more attention as well.

“I’ll explain once we’re safely out of this.” Yevari took the steps that brought her to her bridge’s main viewport, watching the flagship of Acina’s attack fleet attempt to intercept them before their hyperdrive reached full charge. “But I think I’ll be getting a report from Cassaire sooner rather than later about what this ‘Alliance’ is capable of.  _ And _ how Arcann’s plans align with theirs.”

“Do you think he’ll tell you much?” Zoai looked doubtful. “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming before.”

“I don’t know,” Yevari said, wincing as her ship rumbled again--another boarding pod successfully docked, “but I intend to find out.”

 

* * *

 

Sethali’s eyes burned with fatigue, and she rubbed them absently as the rest of the Alliance’s best flora and fauna researchers--some borrowed from Oggurobb, some new to the Alliance who’d just come in from off-world--assembled at the elevator just off Odessen’s main base.

Early in the morning, Natalle had been forced to leave to check on the infirmary’s other patients--with Kahla still unconscious, she’d taken on both their workloads--but placed a cup of caf on the floor beside Sethali’s chair, saying nothing as she departed.

In a way, Sethali was coming to appreciate Natalle’s quiet understanding, even if the prickly Dark Lord wouldn’t admit it. It was better-- _ easier _ \--than Yuhanos’ earnest inquiry of how she was doing, or Lord Castor’s gentle understanding.

It was easier than admitting she was terrified, and didn’t know how to lead her Alliance when so many paths, littered with perils both known and unknown, were laid out before them.

“Commander?”

Sethali jumped, closed her eyes for a few seconds, and opened them to Lana’s concerned and wary face. “Yes?” she asked calmly.

“I’d appreciate if you or one of the guards could keep an eye on Vaylin, if you insist on taking her off-base.” Lana folded her arms and glanced across the small clearing. “We won’t have surveillance out here.”

Sethali followed Lana’s gaze to where Vaylin was standing a conspicuous distance from the rest of the Alliance’s exploration group, arms folded tightly over her chest, hood pulled over her head and her posture slouched down far enough that Sethali could only see the lower half of her face. She was giving off clear emotional signals that Sethali was all too familiar with--uneasiness, uncertainty, even fear.

“I understand.” Sethali finally told Lana, refocusing on her. “We’ll be back before sundown, if everything goes according to plan.”

“Very well. Call if you have any difficulties.” Lana spared one last glance at Vaylin before departing, and Sethali approached.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you came.” Sethali was determined to project a more personable image than that of the stern and intimidating Alliance Commander--perhaps both for Vaylin’s benefit, she admitted to herself, and her own.

Vaylin’s scowl deepened, but she looked up enough from under her hood to fix Sethali with a Force-burnt glare. “Are we leaving or standing around all morning?”

Sethali jerked her head in the direction of the exploration group. “Leaving. Let’s go.”

Vaylin wasn’t the only uneasy one in the group. Several of the group’s guards turned to watch her as they went, but Sethali’s presence nearby seemed to reassure them momentarily. As the group split up, Sethali caught sight of a flowering shrub--though it hadn’t been flowering the last time she’d been here--from one of her previous excursions. As she approached, she sensed someone following in her shadow, and turned to see Vaylin, who stopped as soon as Sethali turned. She made it a point to turn back around and continue towards her quarry like nothing at all had happened.

Vaylin’s footsteps followed.

When Sethali set down most of her gear and weapons to take out the research tools she was borrowing from Doctor Oggurobb, she heard Vaylin remark, “So this is what the great Alliance Commander does all day, hmm?”

“Not  _ all _ day.” Sethali joked. “Sometimes I take care of Alliance business, too.”

She hadn’t been expecting a reaction, but Vaylin huffed, and Sethali turned in time to catch the end of an eye-roll. Perhaps it was derogatory, but something in Sethali’s instincts doubted it.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, during which time Sethali took readings and made notes. When Sethali glanced up again to check where the rest of the team was, she found Vaylin still watching the forest beyond, undoubtedly checking where the rest of the team was, too, but likely for different reasons. “Aren’t you warm in that?” Sethali asked.

Vaylin turned her head just enough to respond. “What do you care?”

“We might be able to find you something more suited to Odessen’s climate if you keep coming out here with us.” Sethali turned to check the soil gauge as she waited for Vaylin’s response.

“I don’t need your charity.” she finally said flatly.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘charity’, Vaylin.” Sethali pointed out carefully. “It’s pragmatism.”

She received only a scoff in response, and Sethali sighed inwardly, picking up her holocamera to take a few images of the flowering shrub. Reaching into the shrub’s branches with the miniature shears to take a small sample of the roots for analysis, she found she couldn’t reach with only one hand.

“Vaylin?” Sethali said as she retracted herself from the shrub.

“What?” came the sullen response.

Sethali turned and offered the holocamera with one hand. “Would you hold this for me?”

There was a brief standoff where Sethali wondered if Vaylin might refuse, or simply walk away to avoid the albeit inconsequential request, but slowly,  _ very _ slowly, like she was afraid Sethali might yank her hand back, Vaylin took the holocamera from Sethali’s hand, careful not to let her fingers brush Sethali’s own.

The  _ click _ of a weapon made Sethali and Vaylin’s heads both jerk around, and one of the Alliance soldiers stood with his weapon loosely aimed in Vaylin’s direction, still pointed at the ground. “Commander?” he asked warily, indicating the holocamera in Vaylin’s hand.

Exasperation bubbled up in Sethali’s chest. “Stand down. That’s an order. The worst she could do is take unflattering holoimages of me with my backside sticking out of a shrub.”

After another glance exchanged between them, the soldier slowly walked away, and a noise that took Sethali a moment to identify as a  _ snicker _ emerged from Vaylin’s direction.

It was gone before Sethali could even turn her head to confirm it, but a grin tugged at her lip as she stuck both hands inside the shrub again.

She’d take her victories in whatever size and shape they came.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Leigh, who kept me going on this chapter and helped me brainstorm when things got stuck <3

As soon as she left the bridge, Cassaire’s pace picked up from a swift walk to an urgent jog. The  _ Doombringer _ ’s stark white illumination had been replaced by the angry red of emergency lighting, and the ship rumbled again as another boarding pod struck the hull. She only had to defend the ship for a few minutes, until they would be ready to depart for hyperspace, but she knew Yevari wouldn’t want any boarders to remain by the time they arrived, wherever they were going.

It provided a distraction from the quietly whirling maelstrom of anger and hurt that sat in the middle of her chest, and Cassaire didn’t know if she hated or welcomed it, this familiar feeling of becoming a weapon again. It was easy for Yevari to question her resolve when she hadn’t been there, in the company of Acina’s inquisitors, yet her ability in a fight was still unquestionable, enough that Yevari would use her in a fight regardless of her doubts.

Perhaps that was unfair. Yevari had a responsibility to more than just her inner circle of friends, and Cassaire was a valuable resource in the defense of the fleet. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to wish for value beyond that of her lightsaber arm.

Still. She’d be lying if she said the thought didn’t sting.

As she turned a corner and heard blaster fire, her hand went for her lightsaber without a moment’s hesitation, picking up her pace to a dead sprint for a few paces before making a flying leap, aided by the Force, right over the heads of Yevari’s defending troops and into the squad of attacking Imperial security droids. The force of her landing sent them to the deck, and she slammed her lightsaber into the ground around them, channeling enough energy that several mechanical components popped off and hit the wall with tiny, metallic  _ clinks _ .

From around the corridor’s corner, another squad of sabotage droids emerged, and Cassaire flung the warped chassis of one of the destroyed droids at the group, scattering them in preparation for another devastating leap.

Just as her lightsaber cut through the first droid with a  _ hiss _ of burning metal, her holocom went off, but she waited to fling her lightsaber in a deadly arc towards a distant battledroid approaching Yevari’s troops and catch it again before answering.

Iona’s image emerged, holding her own lightsaber, looking slightly harried. “We had a few pods land near the infirmary, and I’ve held them off so far, but I can still sense one squad of reinforcements. And since  _ someone _ ,” Cassaire wouldn’t dare to assume Iona was referring to anyone else but Zoai, “decided she had to be on the bridge to watch the action unfold, I could use some backup.”

“Hey,” Zoai’s indignant voice emerged in Cassaire’s earpiece, on the inter-ship channel, and Cassaire realized Zoai must have sliced the ship’s holocommunicators to listen in, “I’ll have you know Yev sent me on a mission. A  _ very _ important mission.”

“I’m on my way.” Cassaire interrupted to keep the bickering from spiraling any further out of control--it already looked like Iona’s normally inexhaustible patience was being stretched to its limit.

“Thank you. Hurry.” Iona finished, and the call disconnected.

Cassaire hadn’t even thought to ask Iona what had happened to Arcann in the midst of the attack, but she supposed if there was a crisis going on unrelated to him, that would take priority.

Still, she picked up her pace from her steady jog into a slightly-unsteady sprint, careening around the corner and passing several of Yevari’s troops as she went, watching as they secured the hallway where she’d just been.

Her skin prickled with the sense that Force lightning was being used in close proximity, and Cassaire rounded the final corner to see Iona swiftly dispatching two of the invading droids with a punishing burst of Force lightning. She turned at Cassaire’s approach and deactivated her lightsaber, attaching it to her belt. “Good, you’re here.”

“What’s happening?” it was a ludicrous question, but Iona seemed to take it seriously enough.

“Only one more squad has come down since I called, and there can’t be much more left on the ship.” Iona cast a glance back into the infirmary. “I was working on the schematics Zoai and I have been piecing together for a new prosthetic, but we’ll have to finish once the present crisis has been resolved.”

“Where’s Arcann?” Cassaire asked of the former emperor.

“Still inside.” Iona drew her lightsaber again and activated it, lighting Cassaire’s steel and purple armor in a faint pinkish-violet glow.

Cassaire cast an uneasy glance back at the infirmary, but any further commentary she might’ve had was interrupted by the arrival of another squad of sabotage droids, at least a half dozen. Easy pickings between two Sith.

....Until four massive battledroids lumbered in behind them, leveling their cannons.

Cassaire wanted to be amused, but couldn’t dig deep enough beyond the latent hurt and anger to find a laugh. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?” was all she managed in the end.

Iona chuckled. “Not today, at least.”

 

* * *

 

The  _ Doombringer _ ’s infirmary was starting to feel more and more confining.

Arcann had heard the ship’s alarms start to go off, of course, and felt the impacts in the hull from what he assumed were boarding pods of some kind--the sounds of combat all throughout the ship confirmed it. Iona, the twi’lek Sith, had remained for a brief time before she’d sensed something and gone into the corridor just beyond, to defend the infirmary.

To defend him, as pathetic as the thought was, but there was no pretending otherwise.

Iona’s datapad sat open to what he assumed were the schematics Iona and Zoai had been working on the night before, until finally the late hour had called Zoai away with a wide, loud, and somewhat obnoxious yawn. Iona remained, and Arcann got the feeling she rarely left at all. She seemed too bookish to be a Sith.

And yet Iona had successfully defended the infirmary from at least one wave of attackers, so perhaps that assessment was somewhat unfair.

He tried not to think of the restless night he’d passed in the infirmary’s spare lodgings, his face still aching from where the broken parts of his mask aggravated his still-healing wounds, renewed phantom pains from where his shoulder assumed his arm was meant to be, and the steady, present current of anxiety that kept his nerves on edge, his eyes darting between corners, searching for either a weapon or escape; he hadn’t been able to decide which.

A new voice outside the infirmary’s door caught his attention again, and even muffled by the walls, he heard Lord Castor’s more throaty tones contrasting with Iona’s smooth and even words. Through the opaque transparisteel paneling, he watched their shadows move and heard the blaster fire that heralded the beginning of another firefight.

He could leave, while they were distracted. He could stay, and wait like some useless invalid in an infirmary. Neither option appealed.

Iona and Lord Castor’s shadows both abruptly stopped moving, and the ship rumbled for a split second before pitching the side with enough force that Arcann found his hand frantically reaching for the medical bed bolted securely to the deck. He clearly heard Lord Castor’s voice this time as she cursed “ _ Damn it! _ ”

Pulling himself unsteadily back to his feet, he made it to the infirmary’s door, which had been wedged ajar with the force of the impact. Lord Castor answered a call on her holocom, and Darth Imperius’ image emerged.

_ “That explosion came from engineering.” _ she reported flatly.  _ “Pyron has informed me that we won’t be able to make a jump until we clear out whatever pests have made their way there.” _

“The droids couldn’t have made it all the way into engineering by now.” Iona frowned, but her grip on her lightsaber tightened.

_ “Ordinarily, I would agree, but all our most powerful fighters are spread too thin.” _ Imperius shrugged, a ridiculously casual gesture given the gravity of the situation, but Arcann watched and waited to see what came of it.  _ “I’m on the bridge with Ashara, Zo is in the server room trying to find our security breach so she can patch it, and you two are at the infirmary with Arcann.” _

He flinched, though he knew Darth Imperius couldn’t see him from Lord Castor’s holocom. Something that felt like guilt tightened his chest, and it must have been more noticeable than he’d care for, because Lord Castor turned her head slightly and regarded him with a thoughtful glance for a few seconds until he broke her eye contact.

_“Speaking of Arcann, take him with you.”_ _that_ was a surprise. Darth Imperius continued before he could interrupt or protest, however, and said, _“It’s safer for him to not be alone in the infirmary--we don’t know what sectors of the ship are secure and which ones aren’t. I’ll do what I can to keep the ship together until the hyperdrive works again.”_

_ Safer for me, _ he thought bitterly,  _ or safer for the rest of the ship? _

“Fine. We’ll be on our way.” Lord Castor hung up the holocall as the ship shuddered again--either a turbolaser blast or another boarding pod. Pressing a few controls on the panel provoked another muttered curse. “Arcann?”

“Yes?” he would  _ not _ kneel down to peer through the crooked opening in the durasteel door, but it still felt absurd to talk to Lord Castor through the half-open doorway.

“Something in the circuitry isn’t working.” her voice was flat, almost curt, and he sensed her irritation lurking under the surface, but had no way to tell if it was directed specifically at him or at their current situation. “You’ll have to stand clear so I can pull the door back.”

“Cass,” Iona interjected, surprised. Arcann wasn’t sure whether to protest that would take just as long as fixing the circuitry or simply be glad they weren’t merely leaving him here, at the mercy of the invading  _ droids _ , though even ‘glad’ seemed too strong a word.

“We don’t have time for finesse at the moment.” Lord Castor pointed out in return. “Arcann, I assume you’re out of the way.”

“As much as I believe I can be.” he finally replied.

“Good enough.” Lord Castor declared, and the creaking sound of straining metal made him wince under his mask; he turned away when the creaking became a high-pitched shrieking sound of two durasteel plates being sheared apart.

When he looked up again, Lord Castor was still braced with her feet on the deck, throwing two warped pieces of durasteel--all that remained of the broken door--into the corridor beyond. It had taken less than a minute, and she barely looked winded by the willpower she’d channeled through the Force--he didn’t know whether to be impressed by or wary of the display of surprising strength. Her face didn’t precisely  _ soften _ , but something did shift as she offered one hand to pull him up.

Arcann hesitated, then took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet easily. “I doubt Yevari expects you to defend her ship without a weapon,” Lord Castor told him, somewhat apologetically, nodding at Iona nearby, “but that’s what we’re here for.”

Useless, once again. He fought the wave of revulsion and disgust that threatened to overwhelm him. Even as a prisoner, he had to be defended.

The  _ Doombringer _ ’s corridors were lit entirely by the red emergency lights, and it cast ominous shadows of their silhouettes as they passed by eerily silent parts of the ship--either inhabited solely by droids or the corpses of those who had died to try and defeat them.

Arcann could tell he wasn’t the only one who found the silence unsettling--Lord Castor was twitchy and the fingers of her free hand clenched into a tight fist before slowly unclenching again. Iona peered carefully down each opened passage before hastily catching up, the Force adding some speed to her steps.

They all heard the metallic sound of droids approaching long before they appeared, but Lord Castor was the first to charge into the fray.

Quite literally, Arcann observed as she landed directly in their midst before sweeping her lightsaber in a deadly arc. Lighting rained down on the remaining droids, summoned by Iona’s hands, and the strikes were either carefully placed to not hit Lord Castor, or she simply dodged them--either feat was equally impressive.

With an underhanded throw, Lord Castor’s lightsaber sliced deftly through one of the last battledroids before it could lower its cannons to target any of their group, and she caught it easily, leaping directly to where Iona fended off two more of the smaller droids. Between the two of them, the sabotage and invasion droids were dismantled quickly, but Arcann itched to be doing  _ something _ .

“Was that all?” Iona glanced anxiously around for a few seconds before lowering her lightsaber, though she didn’t deactivate it.

Lord Castor tensed again as four defensive turrets deployed from the ceiling and from the deck. She reached up to engage her wrist-mounted comlink. “Zoai, tell me you’re the one who activated those turrets.”

“ _ Well, Cass, _ ” Zoai’s tinny voice from Lord Castor’s comlink sounded nothing short of annoyed,  _ “you assume I know  _ exactly  _ where you are in the ship while countering at least two different slicers trying to get into the ship’s systems. But I haven’t activated any turrets at all yet, so I guess that answers that.” _

“Yes, Zoai, thank you.” Lord Castor replied tersely. Arcann cautiously sidled up to hear Zoai’s voice better in his masked ear--the implants there had partially failed, a consequence of keeping the damned thing on so much. “Why haven’t they fired yet?”

“ _ What part of ‘I’m countering two different slicers at once’ didn’t get through? This isn’t even technically my job. Where’s Sethali when you need her?” _

“Zoai.” Iona joined in this time, sternly.

_ “Io, I know we’re friends and all, but you sound appallingly like my mother when you say my name like that, and I don’t like it.” _ Zoai declared. “ _ I’m working on it, all right?” _

Her voice cut out, and Lord Castor slowly began moving towards the entrance to engineering--the doors were ajar, and Arcann’s lip twisted. It looked like forced entry, and he watched Lord Castor’s jaw tighten as she likely came to the same conclusion.

Lightsaber in hand, Lord Castor slipped into a more defensive stance than her combat forms from earlier, and Arcann watched, intrigued. It was clear she was more comfortable in a defensive posture than an offensive one, though hardly anyone would have noticed the miniscule tells that gave her away--and he supposed with the hasty way Darth Imperius had sent Lord Castor directly to the area of the ship in the midst of the greatest crisis, she was skilled enough that even if they  _ did _ notice, they didn’t care.

Abruptly, Lord Castor deactivated her lightsaber and slipped it onto her belt, picking up her pace from a careful walk to a steady jog until she reached the terminal he presumed controlled the vessel’s hyperdrive.

“Zoai, can you spare a moment?” Lord Castor asked into her comlink.

_ “Oh, sure, why not? It’s not like I’m busy keeping our navigation controls from being sliced into.” _

_ “Zo,”  _ that time Darth Imperius’ voice came from Lord Castor’s comlink, and the ship creaked and groaned dangerously,  _ “we’re doing all we can to keep the damage to a minimum, but the ship can’t sustain much more damage before the structure buckles. Let the slicers try--we can keep them out from here. Help Cass with the hyperdrive.” _

As if to punctuate the point, a series of smaller explosions around the ship made the entire engineering chamber shudder as if in fear of being destroyed. Zoai was silent for a moment longer before she sighed and said,  _ “Again, not really my area of expertise, but if you re-route enough power--” _

_ “We can’t reroute power from the shields.”  _ Imperius’ voice was petulant, but firm.  _ “We’ll be destroyed for sure.” _

_ “The sublight engines, then. Anything.”  _ Zoai’s voice insisted.  _ “Except...oh.” _

“Oh?” Lord Castor echoed sharply. “What does that mean?”

After a tense pause, where Arcann wondered if Zoai was hesitating merely for the dramatic timing of it all, another explosion rocked the ship, and this time it was powerful enough to make him stumble and fall backwards.

Lord Castor held out her hand again, and he took it without thinking, feeling the strength of her grip as she pulled him to his feet once more. “Zoai!” Lord Castor spoke into her comlink, tapping it irritably, before she called up to the intercom instead, “Yev, what’s happening?”

They were met with silence, and Lord Castor drew her lightsaber again, turning away from the console, eyes flickering around the room. By now even the red emergency lights had started to fade, and Lord Castor held out one hand to keep Iona from following her. “Cass!” Iona hissed carefully, but pressed herself to the console anyway--debatable the most defensible point in engineering, from where they stood.

Lord Castor didn’t reply, but she tensed again, and it was the only warning they had before defensive turrets deployed from the deck again--aimed directly at where Lord Castor stood.

Iona gasped, and in the split second between the turrets deploying and their automatic programming telling them to open fire, Arcann reached out for the Force, and  _ pushed. _

It was inelegant, to be certain, and Lord Castor had been caught unawares by the sudden shift--she flew through the air and slammed into the engineering console at the far side of the room, landing heavily. She did not rise, and Arcann’s stomach plummeted into his feet. He was suddenly, vividly reminded of Voss, of his mother and Lord Kahla unmoving on the shrine’s floor, and he only realized his breathing hitched when Iona’s hand carefully gripped his shoulder, her lightsaber held securely in her other hand. The four turrets that had been aimed at Lord Castor were now smoking heaps of scrap, presumably destroyed by Iona after he’d panicked.

Arcann jumped at the sudden touch, and snapped, “ _ Don’t. _ ”

Iona looked irritated more than anything else, but it warred with concern on her face, an unusual combination. “I need to check on Cass,” she told him, “but you shouldn’t be separated from us if turrets are malfunctioning around the ship.”

He didn’t particularly have any reason to--better to stay here and stay away before he destroyed anything or anyone else aboard this ship--but he rose hollowly to his feet by bracing his hand on the console Lord Castor had been standing in front of mere moments ago, and followed Iona to where she’d fallen--to where he’d  _ thrown _ her.

Iona deactivated her lightsaber and set it down on the deck, not even bothering to attach it to her belt again. Turning Lord Castor halfway over revealed a tiny trickle of blood from her hairline, and a bruise already developing on one cheekbone. She was still unconscious.

_ “Welcome back, beautiful people--and Cass.” _ Zoai’s voice emerged from Iona’s comlink, and Arcann scowled.  _ “Got comms back online and, uh, you’re gonna want to clear out of engineering pretty quick.” _

“Zo, Cass is injured.” Iona said quietly, urgently. “We’ll have to drag her out of here. What’s happening? Why the rush?”

Zoai paused.  _ “Sister dearest is about to fire her Silencer.” _ Zoai finally said.  _ “And trust me, you  _ really _ don’t want to be there when it goes off.” _

 

* * *

 

Not for the first time in the past five years or even the first time today, Yevari wished she knew more about space combat.

She’d commanded a fleet for years by now, one would have thought she’d pick up  _ something _ in that time. But she supposed she’d gotten a little too careless, relied a little too much on Moff Pyron and his people, and now she was here, staring down a fleet that her single flagship couldn’t hope to defeat with conventional means.

Maybe some big-time strategist could have, but a big-time strategist Yevari was not. It chafed her pride to admit it, but her pride was the least of what she stood to lose today.

“Report.” she said briskly, and Moff Pyron was already turning--after she’d started asking for reports on the minute, he’d begun to compensate.

“Our structural integrity is on the verge of failing. Our primary reactor is strained to the breaking point.” he told her, grim resolve etched into his face. “Captain Kha-Suvra reports limited success in the server room, however.”

“That’s something, at least.” Yevari muttered. Tapping the key to engage the ship’s intercom in the server room, she said, “Zo?”

_ “Still working on it, Yev.” _ Zoai told her with forced cheer.  _ “Doesn’t help that I can’t reach engineering--” _

Yevari’s blood ran cold. “We’ve lost engineering?” she whispered, thinking immediately of Cassaire and Iona--even Arcann, who had apparently gone without a complaint to follow them in their mission to save the ship. She supposed it could have been just as much self-preservation as anything else.

_ “No, no, just comms.” _ Zoai rushed to reassure her.  _ “But that doesn’t really help when I was supposed to be walking Cass through rerouting power from other sources on the ship. And no, you don’t have to tell me to work on it.” _

There were times Zoai’s annoying tendency to over-prepare in the way that older sisters did grated on Yevari’s nerves, but not today. “Let me know when you reach them,” was all she said, but Zoai knew her well enough to read the meaning into it.

Ashara’s hands on Yevari’s shoulders made the petite Sith lord sink back slightly into the touch. Her grip was solid, and grounding, and when Ashara took her hands away, Yevari stood a fraction straighter.

Moff Pyron approached, and Yevari tensed. “My lord,” he began carefully, voice lowered so the bridge crew couldn’t hear, passing a datapad over to her, “the reactor is on the verge of a meltdown. Even pulling power from all other sources, by the time the hyperdrive is functional again, the ship will be too heavily damaged to survive a jump to hyperspace.”

“Speak plainly.” Yevari told him, though she already had a suspicion she knew what was coming.

“We won’t have enough power to recharge the hyperdrive.” he finally said, after a weighted silence. Yevari looked at the datapad he’d handed her, and the numbers meant little to her, but the words  _ REACTOR CORE TEMPERATURE CRITICAL _ were plain as day.

Yevari handed the datapad back to him, and stared out of the bridge’s main viewport, at the furious battle taking place outside. “Do we have enough power to fire the Silencer?” she asked, more subdued than normal, and she felt Ashara’s presence approach again.

Pyron checked a console, and reported, “Just barely, my lord.”

Yevari shook her head slightly, lips pursed painfully tight. “Do it.” she ordered at last. “Recall our fighters--or at least order them to retreat to minimum safe distance.”

Moff Pyron bowed his head, then turned to issue orders to the bridge crew. Yevari felt for Ashara’s hand, and linked their fingers tightly. She knew as well as Yevari that anyone in engineering would be directly in the path of the Silencer’s radiation wave, knew that after so much use already, another use with the reactor in critical condition could very well be a death sentence.

_ Engineering... _

Yevari stiffened, and swiftly engaged her comlink. “Zoai, do you have comms to engineering?”

_ “I will soon, probably. Why?” _ it sounded as if Zoai was holding some kind of mechanical tool in her mouth--her words were muffled and somewhat indistinct.

“I need you to warn anyone in engineering that we’re about to fire the Silencer.” Yevari watched the energy levels for the weapon rise, her panic with it. “We have to warn our people to get out of there.  _ Hurry. _ ”

Zoai cursed, and said,  _ “I’m on it.” _

The channel cut out, and Yevari was left with an empty feeling like she should be doing  _ more _ . There was nothing else to do from here, the relative safety of her bridge, and that was perhaps what she hated the most about her position.

“My lord,” Pyron got her attention again, “the Silencer is ready to fire, on your command.”

Yevari paused, wondered if there had been enough time for their people to escape engineering, and felt an ominous rumble through the deck. She no longer had time to worry, and felt duty and loyalty begin to tear her in two.

“Fire it.” Yevari said. “Now.”

There was a flash of white, then only resounding silence remained.

 

* * *

 

At her age, Ismali was finding that her physical health required far more effort to stay in peak shape than her mental defenses, as though the passage of years and her rapid approach to middle-old age offered to trade her one strength for another.

Every morning, now, when she rose, she spent the majority of her morning routine performing exercises that Yulishin had taught her after they’d fled Tython, and come here--the heart of their enemy’s empire.

Zakuul’s Breaktown was not a  _ nice _ place to live, but Ismali’s goals here had never been about what was nice for her--that was perhaps the only thing she and Yulishin had agreed upon when first coming here. When they had renounced their titles with the Jedi and gone to use their talents in whatever way helped those affected by Emperor Arcann’s war, they had agreed that even those in the heart of Eternal Empire territory had need of their presence.

Ismali idly scratched one of the bony ridges on the side of her jaw and tied her steely gray hair back in its bun as she knelt to meditate, as she got in the habit of doing upon waking. Her dualsaber lay inert on a pile of laundry she had yet to wash from the past week, but she didn’t know yet if she would need it today.

Yulishin poked her head around the doorway, deep blue hair perfectly tied and bright red eyes unmarked with any trace of exhaustion, her patchwork set of armor--similar to Ismali’s own, designed to keep them out of public notice--assembled and newly-repaired from a dent incurred during a small skirmish with the resident Heralds of Zildrog a few days ago. The mask covering her sky-blue skinned face was the only part of the ensemble missing, but it was wrapped around her neck, so Ismali assumed Yulishin had been out already. She didn’t look happy, but there was little cause to be happy here.

In all her time as a lord of the Sith, and then as a master of the Jedi, Ismali had not lived in a place so steeped in corruption as Breaktown under the rule of the Heralds. She knew only a little about them--understandably, she hadn’t precisely had the chance to hold a civilized conversation with one while fending them off with her dualsaber--but she knew that their old leader, the old Exulted, was gone, replaced by his son some months back. If anything, the attacks had gotten worse since then.

Conflict was inevitable in Breaktown, a lesson Ismali had learned when they first arrived here several months ago.

“I don’t like it out there.” Yulishin declared. “It feels...different, today.”

“Different how?” Ismali asked without breaking her meditative trance.

“More tense.” Yulishin decided after a moment of thinking. “It feels like a storm is about to break. Though I suppose we would hardly notice, all the way down here.”

Ismali mumbled her agreement and rose to her feet. “Do you think we ought to check the signal receiver?”

Deep in the Endless Swamp, the two Jedi Masters placed a well-hidden signalling device, stolen from a crashed Zakuulan dropship, effectively their only source of news from the wider galaxy. Being of Zakuulan make, it only picked up Zakuulan channels--though Ismali had a feeling they could have rigged to receive others, Yulishin had pointed out that a lone receiver picking up signals with either Republic or Imperial encryption patterns would likely appear suspicious to anyone who might be watching, an assessment with which Ismali had reluctantly agreed--but even sifting through those meager offerings gave them a glimpse of what was happening outside their insulated bubble.

“Perhaps.” Yulishin hesitated as she said it. “But it also feels wrong to leave.”

“Then we’ll stay.” Ismali replied calmly.

Yulishin sighed. “Then I suppose we--”

She was interrupted by the sound of a loudspeaker broadcast, in a woman’s voice neither Jedi recognized. “People of Zakuul, I am Exarch Vyrint. Hear me.”

“I don’t recognize that name.” Ismali said, narrowing her ruby-red eyes suspiciously.

“Neither do I.” Yulishin muttered. “Let’s listen.”

“Rumors have persisted long enough, so now I come to deliver the truth.” down here, only one holographic terminal worked, and both Jedi craned their heads around the apartment’s meager window to watch. A woman wearing armor that vaguely resembled a Zakuulan Knight’s set stood there, one side of her face covered by three long scars and a cybernetic plate covering the same eye. “Your former Emperor and High Justice have fled the Empire, and unconfirmed reports place them as being within the Alliance’s ranks.

“Myself and the other Exarchs understand how deep of a shock this must be, but rest assured that this betrayal will be answered. We will find our former Emperor, and if he as well as the High Justice have truly turned their backs on Zakuul, they will be judged accordingly.”

Yulishin wouldn’t have looked more shocked if Ismali had thrown a bucket of cold water on her, though Ismali had a feeling her face looked no better. If Arcann was gone, as well as the High Justice...she supposed that made this Exarch Vyrint next in line, or something.

“She didn’t introduce herself as Empress.” Yulishin muttered.

“I noticed that, as well.” Ismali scowled. “Let’s hear what else she has to say.”

“--are welcome to bring your concerns to the nearest authority figure, and information regarding the location of both Emperor Arcann and High Justice Vaylin, as well as agents of the rogue Alliance, will be granted highest priority.” Exarch Vyrint finished. “Our people have faced trying days, but we will emerge from them that much stronger.”

There was a pause, where Ismali committed the Exarch’s features to memory, before the hologram fizzled out when one of Breaktown’s residents threw something at the panel--Force only knew what.

“So.” Yulishin said at last. “We have missing royalty and an unknown Exarch. What do you figure we should do about that?”

“I think,” Ismali replied after a thoughtful pause, “we’ve been stuck down here for too long. I think it’s time we went back to the Old World.”

Yulishin’s sharp, shocked breath was not surprising. “Why?”

“Because,” Ismali pursed her lips and thought, with a pang of regret, she might need her dualsaber after all today, “the Lady of Sorrows owes me a favor. I believe it’s time to collect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of fought me every step of the way, but I wanted to finish it before the month was out. I know this one was very centered on Cassaire's story arc, but we'll be getting back to Sethali and Vaylin hopefully next chapter.
> 
> Yulishin is dawnofakatosh's Jedi knight, who I've been allowed to borrow for story-telling purposes!


	9. Chapter 9

In her four decades (and change) in this galaxy, Zoai had considered herself a woman of many talents, but with a talent for fixing in particular.

She could fix a blaster, she could repair minor mechanical parts on her ship (though Risha had picked up the slack where Zoai herself had faltered), she could patch a wound, perform surgery, knew which stims and which medications conflicted with one another and were unsafe to take--in fact, most of her talents involved healing, when she broke everything down to its bare bones, no pun intended. She had always been skilled at  _ mending _ things.

One thing she could not fix, however, was the detached, lonely look on her sister’s face every time she gave an order she knew would send people to their deaths. Once, in a faraway lean-to in Raider’s Cove, there was a time Zoai could have made Yevari laugh easily and whatever upset had provoked such a reaction would be forgotten.

Those days were two decades behind them, though, and after nineteen years apart, those events felt more like a dream, than something Zoai herself had experienced. There was an unspoken divide between her and her sister that could never again be breached, no matter how much they tried. It was something Zoai had mourned for a time, but it was enough to have Yevari back in her life. It was enough to know, despite everything, her kid sister was still in there, somewhere.

Now, though, was one of the times Zoai  _ felt _ the rift between her and Yevari,  _ really _ felt it, and was forced to acknowledge she couldn’t fix this.

“My lord,” Yevari’s pet Moff spoke up from one of the status consoles as Zoai sauntered into the bridge from the  _ Doombringer’ _ s server room, “the Imperial fleet has been destroyed, but our window of time to repair the hyperdrive before they potentially send reinforcements is limited.”

“Then get started.” Yevari replied hollowly. “And get a hold of the rest of the fleet to tell them what happened. If one of them can be spared to transfer personnel to facilitate faster repairs, do that as well. We’ll need them on standby if we have to evacuate the ship, anyway.”

Watching Yevari command Imperial officers at least twice her age, having them bow their heads and genuinely  _ respect _ her, from all Zoai could see, had always been a surreal thing for Zoai to witness: it was evidence that Yevari was master of a world Zoai had only limited exposure to until around five years ago, when she’d dropped everything--the Republic, the underworld she’d become a master of herself,  _ everything _ , because those things didn’t matter to her half as much as having Yevari back _ \-- _ to join her on her mad quest to evade the Eternal Empire.

What else were big sisters for?

“Zo.” Yevari had approached while Zoai was lost in thought, and she snapped herself out of it. “Cass is still injured. Assuming their group made it out of engineering, they’ll need help.”

Zoai pretended to heave a sigh. “My work is never done, seems like. I’m on my way. And  _ you _ shouldn’t be too far behind me.”

Yevari’s brow crinkled with confusion. “What?”

“Yev, I’m pretty sure I could  _ feel _ your blood pressure skyrocketing from the other side of the ship.” Zoai remarked, only half-joking. “At least let me check you out before you come back up here to stare menacingly at your crew while they work.”

Yevari scowled petulantly, and in that moment she was every bit the kid sister Zoai had been constantly bailing out of trouble in Raider’s Cove. “A little adrenaline rush won’t kill me.” she muttered. “See to Cass and the others first, and when things are under control up here, I’ll stop by.”

“Great!” Zoai said cheerfully, turning on her heel to approach the elevator that would take her to the middle decks of the ship, where the infirmary was situated. “Don’t think I’ll forget if I don’t see you.”

Deep within the  _ Doombringer’ _ s decks, Zoai saw evidence of the conflict the vessel had survived. Boarding pods were still attached to the hull and jutted into corridors with their pointed shells. She made it a point to check all of them warily, only half-trusting that the sabotage droids within had been destroyed.

Zoai rounded a corner and came upon a small squad of Imperial troopers kneeling beside one of their injured, unconscious comrades, and one of them--who she assumed was the squad leader, by the markings on his armor--was about to flag her down before he hesitated. “You’re that Republic privateer.” he told her, somewhat accusingly.

Zoai put a hand on her chest, pretending to be shocked. “I  _ am? _ Here I thought I was a highly-trained combat medic that was about to see if your buddy needed help, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Ignore him, uh, Miss Kha-Suvra.” one of the other Imperials told her awkwardly.

“‘Captain’ will do fine,” Zoai said with a deep sigh, sinking to her knees beside the injured Imperial, “if you don’t mind?”

The Imperial squad leader had no further objections, but sullenly moved out of the way as Zoai reached for her diagnostic scanner and a spare shot of kolto she kept in her belt. “‘Captain’, huh?” one of the other Imperials asked her, trying and failing not to let his curiosity show in his tone. For the most part, Zoai had only limited interaction with Yevari’s crew, and rarely held conversations with them, so it was only natural they’d want to know more about her. “But you don’t have a ship.”

Zoai’s diagnostic scanner told her the injured Imperial had taken a few blaster bolts to the ribcage and right arm, from the attacking droids. Debilitating and painful, but not deadly. She looked up after injecting the shot of kolto. “I have one in one of the ship’s hangars, though stars only know if it survived the fight. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.” Attaching the spent kolto shot to her belt along with the scanner, she clapped her hands together once and rose to her feet. “All right, that’ll keep him stable until you can get him to the infirmary.”

She expected no thanks and received none, but it didn’t matter. At one point in her career, recognition and reward might’ve been all she cared about, but over the past five years, she’d learned the value of discretion. She’d take pride in her own actions, thank you.

At the infirmary, Zoai tossed her spent kolto shot in the disposal container and picked up a few fresh ones, frowning as she noted Iona and Cassaire and Arcann’s absence. She tapped her comlink. “Hey, Io--I’m at the infirmary and you’re not. What’s up?”

“I can’t carry Cassaire on my own.” normally Iona’s patience was difficult to strain, but Zoai could hear it in her voice. “And Arcann isn’t precisely in a position to help me at the moment. I have to drag her.”

“Where are you?” Zoai was already on her way out even as Imperial troops helped half-carry their injured compatriots in. Yevari’s ship had dedicated medics, of course, even if Zoai and Iona had somewhat unintentionally taken over the space, but Zoai still felt like she should have been there.

_ Focus, _ she reminded herself as Iona gave her directions to the junction of the ship she’d managed to drag Cassaire into. “Still not far from engineering. It looks like Cassaire might have a mild concussion--or she was at least knocked unconscious by the impact. We’ll know more when we pull her armor off.”

_ Impact with what? _ The question was on the tip of Zoai’s tongue, but she had a feeling she’d get answers before long. “On my way.”

She still passed empty boarding pods, latched firmly to the hull, but she’d moved past the point of needing to double-check them--if there were still hostile contacts on this ship,  _ someone _ would’ve said something by now.

At the last corner before engineering, Zoai came upon Iona kneeling next to Cassaire, who seemed to be slowly coming to. Arcann drifted in their orbit, looking restless but uncertain. Zoai ignored both of them in favor of kneeling at Cassaire’s side. “Hey, Cass.”

Cassaire looked up, but her dark brown eyes were unfocused and somewhat foggy. The purple cosmetics around her eyes and mouth were smudged, and a yellowed area on her cheekbone promised she’d have a bruise to show later. “Mmm,” was all Cassaire could manage to say, but she’d said something, at least.

“So,” Zoai looked at Iona and Zakuul’s former emperor, who was starting to look more and more uncomfortable, “what happened?”

“I pushed her.” Arcann said flatly.

Zoai blinked. “...what?”

“He left out some details.” Iona arched a brow.

His one exposed eye narrowed slightly. “Defensive turrets were deployed from the ship’s deck, out of Lord Castor’s sight. I pushed her out of the way.”

“Probably those damned slicers.” Zoai muttered, taking hold of Cassaire’s chin and looking into her eyes for any sign they’d taken serious damage, but aside from the cut near her hairline and whatever else lay under her armor plating, she looked all right. “Okay. I’ll take one shoulder, you get the other?” Zoai glanced over at Iona, who nodded.

“Slowly, mind you.” Iona said dryly as she picked up one of Cassaire’s arms. “I don’t think Cassaire’s at top speed right now.”

Zoai tapped her earpiece as they slowly made their way down the hall. “Hey, Yev.”

_ “Did you find them?” _ was the first thing Yevari asked, trying to hide her fear.

“Yeah. Cass got hurt--if you want to come down to the infirmary, we can explain it there.” Zoai smirked to herself as she said it.

She wouldn’t put it past Yevari, after all, to get out of going to see a doctor--even if that doctor was her own big sister.

 

* * *

 

Arcann was slowly coming to  _ hate _ the  _ Doombringer _ ’s infirmary.

It was busier now than it had been when they’d first arrived, and both Zoai and Iona darted back and forth between serious patients to check status reports on datapads, occasionally asking for one another’s input. He’d found a chair out of the way, and stayed there. Lord Castor had been sat down on an exam table and was not permitted to fall asleep until either Zoai or Iona could determine with absolute certainty that she didn’t have a concussion.

She hadn’t said anything to him, but he wasn’t expecting otherwise, after he was the one who’d caused the injury in the first place. The very second he’d seen her fall and not immediately rise again, some part of him had wanted a hole to open up underneath him and swallow him whole, never to be seen again. Easier, than dealing with the aftermath.

“Okay, Cass. Let’s see that head.” Zoai approached at a brisk walk, armed with a diagnostic scanner and a few kolto packs. “You’re gonna have to lose the armor at some point, too--Io thinks your ribs got bruised. I assume they hurt.”

Lord Castor mumbled something unintelligible from where she sat, but Zoai clearly understood it perfectly, and she snorted. “You know, you’d have fit right in on Rishi, with a mouth like that. If you didn’t have that whole ‘Sith-y’ look about you, at least.”

Zoai handed Lord Castor one of the kolto packs, and she pressed it to her head. When Zoai turned abruptly to face  _ him, _ Arcann didn’t flinch, but some internal part of him recoiled at the direct attention. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. Io and I still have some things to sort out with the prosthetic schematic when things settle down, but I’m gonna start building it tonight.”

Her complete and utter lack of concern for the fact he’d just thrown one of their close allies into a console hard enough to leave her mildly concussed was astounding. “Fine.” was all he said. “It’s not as if I could go anywhere without it.”

Zoai whisked away to check on the other casualties of the brief attack on the ship, and it took Arcann a moment to realize Lord Castor’s attention had focused on him. Her gaze was clearer now, and she had a pensive twist to her mouth that said she was considering saying something.

“What?” he finally demanded irritably. “What do you want?”

Lord Castor arched a brow. “Just thinking. Did you know we’ve crossed paths before all this?”

Arcann scowled and searched his memories for any time he and Lord Castor had come face-to-face before Voss, and came up blank. “When?”

“Asylum. It was just after your duel with Sethali.” to his complete surprise, Lord Castor looked a little  _ amused _ , and wondered how badly she’d really been concussed. “I was the one who dropped that crate on you.”

Arcann vividly remembered his fight against the Outlander on Asylum, before she’d been the Alliance Commander, before she’d been anything, really, except his father’s puppet. He also dimly remembered an outraged scream, right before a crate from the control area had knocked him off the platform and sent him plummeting back to Asylum’s main docks.

“And may I ask what is so amusing about that?” he finally said.

Lord Castor’s grin was dry, and didn’t fully reach her eyes. “I suppose we’re even, now.”

Anger and panic warred for control in his chest. “I didn’t do that as revenge.” he snapped.

“I’m sorry.” Lord Castor looked genuinely abashed, and lowered her gaze for a moment before looking back up. “It was a joke. Albeit a poorly-timed one. I didn’t mean that in an antagonistic sense, but I see how it could be taken as such given the circumstances.”

Her apology was almost more surprising than the fact she had apparently tried to make a  _ joke _ with him, and the silence sat for too long before he felt he could structure an appropriate response. Lord Castor didn’t seem to need one, and focused on the kolto pack in her hand, taking it away after a short while and pulling out a datapad instead.

_ “Cassaire Theavela Castor, you’d better not be trying to work in my infirmary!” _ Zoai’s shout carried easily across the room, and Arcann watched Lord Castor wince.

“I suppose I can add ‘every conscious person in the infirmary’ to the list of people who now know my middle name.” Lord Castor muttered, reluctantly setting the datapad aside.

Arcann arched a brow. “Is it such a debilitating secret?”

“No,” Lord Castor retorted defensively, “but I despise my middle name, and thus I don’t like to share it. Before Yev found out about it, the number of people who knew it could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare.”

“Why?”

The question seemed to catch Lord Castor somewhat off-guard. “What do you mean,  _ why?” _

“Just that. Why do you dislike your middle name?”

Lord Castor sniffed. “It’s pompous and reeks of nobility. That’s hardly the first impression I want someone to have of me.”

Arcann was saved from responding by Iona arriving to snatch the datapad from where Lord Castor had set it on the exam table, and she calmly but firmly reminded Lord Castor that until one of them determined the extent--or even confirmed the existence of--her concussion, she should  _ not _ be attempting to read anything on a datapad, particularly anything work-related.

“Stubborn to the last.” remarked Darth Imperius from behind Arcann, who’d apparently entered the infirmary while he hadn’t been paying attention. He couldn’t be sure whether or not she was speaking to him, and said nothing.

Lord Castor, however, looked up instantly at the sound of Darth Imperius’ voice and her face abruptly turned blank and inscrutable. Iona paused, and Arcann felt the ambient tension in the room rise sharply.

“How are you feeling?” Darth Imperius asked easily, though the tightness of her jaw betrayed her apprehension.

Lord Castor arched a brow. “Are you asking just because I’ll need to defend your ship again?”

With her freckled complexion, it was easy to tell when Darth Imperius’ face flushed--whether with anger or shame, it was difficult to tell--and she turned sharply on her heel, walking to the other side of the infirmary.

“Cass.” Iona warned.

“You didn’t hear what she asked me on the bridge, Iona.” Lord Castor glanced up, made eye contact with him, then looked away and shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Iona looked unconvinced, but dropped the topic, resting two fingertips on Lord Castor’s temples, closing her eyes to concentrate. “No concussion.” she pronounced at last. “At least not one severe enough to restrict your sleep.”

“Then I suppose I can get back to work.” Lord Castor sat up a little straighter.

“Work, absolutely not--but you’re welcome to leave the infirmary if you wish.” Iona shrugged. “Just be careful the next few days.”

Without further comment, Lord Castor departed, and took a great deal of the infirmary’s energy with her. Within the next hour, all the patients that were critically injured had been seen to by either Iona or Zoai, and the ship’s onboard medics and medical droids had dealt with the remaining minor injuries. Arcann hesitated to call it  _ peaceful _ , after that hour passed, but it was near enough.

The  _ Doombringer’ _ s day-night cycle differed than that of other worlds Arcann had been on recently, and despite the excitement from the day’s attack and the fact it couldn’t have been any more than a few hours since what counted as ‘morning’ aboard the ship, Zoai got up to dim the infirmary’s lights anyway. She left, and Iona sat at a desk pressed up against the infirmary’s far wall, a datapad in her hand.

When Zoai returned, she’d abandoned her ostentatious black leather jacket in favor of something softer, in a shade of homey brown that was a sharp contrast with her bright red skin, and she held a cloth-wrapped bundle in both arms. Setting it on a nearby table, she turned back to him. “All right, you’re up.” she told him, and jerked her thumb in the direction of the table. “Hold out your arm.”

Arcann rose as Zoai picked up a different kind of scanner. He felt foolish, but raised his remaining arm up as Zoai ran the scanner over it, then the blackened remnants of his old prosthetic. “What are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Zoai sighed and set her scanner down on the table with slightly more force than necessary. “Look, kid, I appreciate where you’re coming from right now, but if I’ve gotta explain every detail of what I’m about to do, it’ll take about ten times longer.” her face shifted slightly, and she shrugged as she added, “In this case, I’m checking the mineral composition of the materials we had available and the composition of your old arm. Also checking to make sure we took our measurements right.” Her scanner made a single chiming noise, and she checked it absently. “Not  _ quite _ the same, but pretty damn close. Better adjust it just to be safe.”

Zoai was not one of his old doctors, back on the Spire. For all he knew, she wasn’t even a medical professional, no matter how much she might joke about holonet courses she graduated from. She  _ looked _ like she knew what she was doing, but there was no way to be certain.

“You’ve got that  _ look _ on your face.” Zoai scowled, and her bright golden eyes narrowed slightly as she set the scanner down again and folded her arms over her chest. “Go on, go ahead and say it.”

There was no way she could’ve known his thinking, and with his mask still covering half of his increasingly-sore face, she wouldn’t have gotten much of a read on facial expression, but by her own admission Zoai was a galactic miscreant--reading people was a necessary skill in any con artist.

“You don’t know what I was thinking.” was all he finally said.

“Not for  _ sure _ , no, but you’ve got that look that every Imperial soldier I’ve treated on this ship has when I walk up to them.” Zoai held out her hand and counted conversational points on her fingers. “One, I take full ownership of my less reputable actions in the past, and not that you’d probably care, but I don’t identify as a Republic privateer anymore. Two, I was only  _ half- _ joking about holonet courses--they were paid for by the Republic when I showed some natural talent with medicine. They don’t exactly want underworld goons showing up to their most prestigious universities in person, though, yeah? Not even their privateers. Three, and probably the most important, I guarantee there’s no one else on this ship--besides Io--who could put this thing together and not screw it up.”

Silence fell and Arcann stared at Zoai sullenly. Finally, he begrudgingly indicated her scanner. “Do what you must.” he muttered.

“So glad to have your permission, Your Majesty.” Zoai retorted as she picked up the scanner again, sarcasm thick in her tone.

Arcann was torn between feeling stung or irritated, but made no further comment as Zoai made a few notes on her datapad and finally set it aside. “All right. Tonight I’m just working on building the damn thing and getting some of the tech components in there to see if they’ll function properly. When we put it on, it’ll probably have to be through surgery.” Zoai shrugged. “Sorry.”

No different than he’d been expecting, but Arcann found he didn’t relish the thought of being vulnerable here, in what was no longer enemy territory but not precisely friendly territory either, and finally said, “If that’s what has to happen.”

“It is.” Zoai said matter-of-factly, taking a seat in one of the available chairs as she pulled out a set of tools, unwrapping her cloth bundle to reveal several metal rods, joints, and technical components he vaguely recognized. She kicked the chair on the other side of the table out and said, “Take a load off. Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He analyzed that last statement for a mocking undertone, but found it surprisingly empty. He reluctantly took the chair.

It was quiet for several minutes, with occasional bursts of noise and light when Zoai did something with her soldering tool, but she apparently felt no need to make conversation. Ordinarily Arcann thought he might have welcomed the silence, but the air felt thick, heavy with tension.

“Why are you doing this?”

Zoai paused, holding the tool and part of what was slowly becoming his new prosthetic in both hands. “Come again?”

“ _ Why _ are you doing this?” he asked it in the same tone he’d asked Lord Castor what she was doing aboard the shuttle on Voss--full of confusion, and doubt, and mistrust.

With a heavy sigh, Zoai got back to work, but responded, “Because Yev asked me to, because Cass asked  _ her _ to.”

She hadn’t even tried to conceal the truth. “That’s a lie.” he told her promptly.

“Yep.” Zoai replied without looking up. “Kid, I  _ hope _ I don’t have to tell you all the reasons we should be angry you’re here. A lot of fuckery went down in the last five years that didn’t need to. I still don’t understand why, and part of me wants an explanation, but it can wait.” Zoai stopped and set her tools down. “You’re here because you won’t face Sethali yet--fine, you probably have your reasons--but neither Yev or I knew what to make of your supposed newfound will to do good.”

“What does this have to do with--”

“You didn’t have to save Cass.”

Arcann stopped, and clamped his jaw tightly enough to hurt.

“You didn’t have to save Cass,” Zoai repeated, “and you chose to anyway. It doesn’t mean  _ everything _ , all right? But I figure you’ve gotta start somewhere.”

“I threw her into a computer console and gave her a concussion.” Arcann finally replied, trying to sound flat and disinterested, but failing.

“And if you hadn’t,” Zoai looked down at her tools again, and a small flash of light from the mini-torch illuminated her tattooed face, “she’d have a torso full of blaster burns and potentially internal damage, too. Let’s weigh those up, shall we? Minor headache, versus days in a kolto tank and at least a few more days afterward before she’d be out of bed rest. She went back to her quarters with painkillers tonight.”

“But I--”

“Kid,” Zoai interrupted again, her expression pained, “I’m  _ trying _ to give you a compliment, okay?”

He fell silent, if only because the surprise of Zoai’s insistence to credit him  _ positively _ for throwing Lord Castor into a console ranked alongside the lord in question attempting to joke with him, and then apologizing for it.

_ It doesn’t mean everything, all right? But I figure you’ve gotta start somewhere. _

“Thank you.” he finally said, the words clunky and uncertain in his mouth, but this time, they seemed like the right ones. He hesitated, then ventured a question, “Lord Castor seemed upset with Darth Imperius.”

“ _ Oh _ no, I’m not getting involved in that.” Zoai physically leaned back in her chair, putting some distance between her and the conversation. “You wanna know the details, you’re gonna have to ask ‘em yourself. Wouldn’t hold your breath on Cass, though. She won’t even tell  _ us _ exactly what happened.”

“And my chances of hearing anything myself likely went down, as well,” Darth Imperius’ voice, dry and slightly slurred with sleep, interjected without warning, and Arcann watched Zoai turn her head in time for Darth Imperius to emerge from the shadows of the darkened half of the infirmary.

“I mean,” Zoai began to point out gently, “think about it from Cass’ perspective, Yev. She stays behind on Dromund Kaas so we get free,  _ something _ happens to her for nearly a year, and the first thing she hears in a crisis is a partial accusation that it might be her fault.”

“I wasn’t  _ accusing _ her,” Darth Imperius folded her arms petulantly, “it was a perfectly reasonable question given the circumstan--”

“Yev.” Zoai interrupted with a raised brow.

“...I’ll apologize tomorrow.” she muttered, rubbing her freckled, tattooed face in one hand.  _ “After _ I get some sleep in my own bed. Provided my blood pressure is satisfactory?”

There was a sarcastic undertone to her question that seemed to roll right off Zoai’s shoulders. “It is. Trust me. I’m a doctor. And don’t let me catch you that stressed out again.”

“With my luck, I’ll be back here in the next twelve hours.” Darth Imperius joked.

There was something about watching Darth Imperius, a powerful woman his studies had once labeled a lethal malcontent, bicker with her older sister, an underworld legend, like they  _ weren’t _ two vital components of a galactic community that had suffered greatly over the past five years, that seemed surreal to Arcann. Darth Imperius had brought Dark Lords to their knees and built a power base from the ground up, with only a few Imperial officers willing to listen to her. Zoai, while less known to the galactic whole, had carved out a significant place for herself as the legendary Voidhound.

And for all that, Zoai still hovered over her sister, protective and perhaps even worried, though the former clearly tried her best to make it appear nothing more than professional concern from a logical perspective. They were exceedingly  _ normal _ , and something about that normalcy made him feel empty, an outsider looking in.

It reminded him, he realized with a pang deep in his chest, of Thexan. For a split second, he felt the loss anew, and shook his head like the motion would make him forget. It never did.

_ “Hello? _ Anyone still in there?”

Arcann jumped and gripped the edge of the table with his hand tightly enough he felt the bones press against the flat durasteel. “What?”

Zoai looked somewhat bemused, one ankle balanced over her knee, and Arcann realized Darth Imperius had gone--how long had he been lost in thought? It couldn’t have been long. Zoai canted her head to the side, dark red hair flopping over her forehead. She tucked a few strands behind one of her larger horns. “I  _ said _ , Yev went back up to the bridge for a status report from her pet Moff before turning in. I’m done working on the new prosthetic for tonight--I’ll have Iona look at it tomorrow and see what she thinks. Meantime, I was going to take a look at whatever injuries you’ve got under the mask. If you don’t mind. Kinda want to stop them from getting infected.”

Arcann hesitated. The last time he’d taken his mask off had been in the immediate aftermath of the flight from Voss, and Lord Castor had done him the favor of giving him the privacy to do so. Before that...he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seen his face unmasked. In all likelihood, it had been his doctors back in the Spire.

His face  _ did _ hurt in some places, though, and he’d have to take it off eventually--he didn’t quite think of Zoai as a doctor in the truest sense, but she’d already done more than expected. And, like she’d pointed out earlier, she was the only one available.

It was still with no small degree of reluctance he reached for the catches keeping it in place. Zoai got up to retrieve her diagnostic scanner. “Hey, don’t worry, you can have it back in a little while.” she said from the cabinet, searching for something, “It’d give you a great sabacc face, I bet.”

He disengaged the seals and pulled the mask off, wincing as his face was exposed to the open air on the ship. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The sound of a holocom going off made Zoai jump, bumping her head on the top of the cabinet, and she cursed while fumbling for something at her belt, eventually pulling the device loose. “What?”

_ “The  _ Talon _ arrived, and the rest of my fleet is on its way.” _ Darth Imperius’ voice emerged, and while she didn’t sound precisely uneasy, she didn’t sound confident, either.  _ “It seems we’ve ventured a little closer to the Outer Rim than I originally expected.” _

“Okay, what does that mean?” Zoai set her holocom down while she continued rummaging through the cabinet, and Arcann did his best to not be obvious in attempting to crane his head to see Darth Imperius’ image, trying to gauge her body language.

_ “It means we’re within range of the Eternal Empire’s patrols near the Belsavis system.” _ Darth Imperius said flatly, and Zoai cursed again, under her breath.  _ “So we now have a limited time-frame for repairs. We may only have sufficient time to temporarily repair the hyperdrive and make a single jump to a safe distance before deciding what to do next, and where to acquire the materials for a permanent fix. We’ll see what the engineers accomplish tonight.” _

“I assume you’re gonna update Cass and the rest here pretty soon.” Zoai finally emerged from the cabinet, holding a small container of kolto and a small roll of bandages.

_ “I doubt Cass would forgive me for waking her now,”  _ Darth Imperius responded wryly,  _ “and it isn’t worth waking everyone just yet.” _

“Well, I assume I’ll find out if and when it becomes a crisis situation.” Zoai took her seat again. “Now will you go the fuck to sleep, already? Thought I told you to keep your blood pressure down.”

Darth Imperius snorted, and the line disconnected.

Despite himself, Arcann was curious, and he said as Zoai set the materials she’d been rummaging around for on the table, “You seem...protective of Darth Imperius.”

“When you say it with her big, fancy title, sure, it probably seems weird.” Zoai gestured at him with her diagnostic scanner. “Would you please just call her  _ Yev _ like everyone else does? Or ‘Yevari’, at least.” Picking up his mask, he tensed as she turned it end over end. “Fancy piece. Anyway, you didn’t ask a question, really, but I get the picture. The last time I saw Yev before this whole  _ situation _ was when she was nine years old. I spent nineteen years apart from her. If I want to baby my little sister a bit, it’s because I still remember her as a nine-year-old brat.”

His lip twitched up into something that tried to be a smile. “She was a brat, was she?”

“The brattiest kid in Raider’s Cove.” Zoai confirmed. “Don’t ever let her try to convince you otherwise.”

To her credit, Zoai was quick with her kolto sprays and didn’t even need the bandages she’d originally brought out. She wouldn’t permit him to put the mask back on just yet, citing that the minor wounds needed open air to help heal better, and keeping them covered up would only prolong the amount of time the healing would take.

“Besides,” she finished, “if I’m gonna have a chance at beating you in sabacc, the mask is an unfair advantage.”

“That doesn’t seem like an opinion a medical professional should express.” he remarked.

Zoai snorted and rolled her eyes. “I’m equal parts medical professional and card shark.”

“Given that I know you cheat,” he countered, “why would I risk playing?”

“Sound instincts.” both of them turned their heads at Lord Castor’s voice, and Arcann tensed as he saw the slowly-blooming purple bruise on one cheekbone. Her grin was dry. “She’ll take you for everything you have--including your armor.”

Zoai clutched her chest in mock-offense. “Cass, you wound me! Don’t tell me you’re still upset about our last game?”

Lord Castor’s dark eyes were tired as she leaned against the cabinet Zoai had pulled her supplies from earlier. Her armor was absent, as were her vibrant purple cosmetics, and he realized he had never seen her without either of those things. In a simple jacket and leggings, her red hair combed down over one side of her head, she looked somewhat soft and even shockingly  _ normal _ .

Arcann wasn’t fooled, though--the tension in her frame was enough indicator she hadn’t let her guard down, and with her strength in the Force, amply demonstrated by the destruction of the infirmary’s door earlier that day, she hardly needed a weapon to defend herself here.

He sharply turned his head before either of the infirmary’s other occupants could accuse him of staring, in time to hear Lord Castor respond to Zoai’s original question, “I had to borrow the cloak off Yuhanos’ armor to preserve my dignity on my way back to my quarters, so yes, I still remember our last game  _ very _ vividly.”

“Cass is a sore loser.” Zoai engaged him again. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Zo,” Lord Castor said quietly, “I need to ask a favor. In private.”

Zoai arched a brow, but hauled herself out of her chair. “Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

They vanished into the darkened half of the infirmary, where Iona still sat at her desk, quietly reading reports and making notes. She looked up at Lord Castor and Zoai’s approach, but Arcann couldn’t hear what they discussed from this distance. Eventually Lord Castor was handed something, and she left without any further comment.

Zoai returned and sat heavily in her chair, looking a hundred years older than she had when she’d gotten up. “Poor kid,” was all she muttered, gathering up her tools to stow them back in the cabinet.

Arcann watched where Lord Castor had left from. “I don’t believe you’re that much older than her.”

“She’s Yev’s age,” Zoai paused in putting her diagnostic scanner back on her belt, “so I tend to lump everyone in that age group into the category by which I’ll refer to them as ‘kid’. Damn, didn’t think I’d need to write an  _ essay _ about my nicknaming habits.”

Arcann bristled, and Zoai sighed heavily. “Sorry.” she muttered, getting up to put her tools away. “She just hasn’t  _ said _ anything, y’know? Something’s eating her. Probably why she can’t sleep.”

Arcann watched the empty doorway, still partially dismantled from the attack earlier, and wondered what someone like Lord Castor would have to think about that would keep her up at night.

It was only then, he realized, Lord Castor hadn’t said a single word about his mask being gone, and he didn’t know whether or not he was relieved by the fact.

 

* * *

 

Sethali knew Cassaire, if she had been here, would joke that Sethali was pacing a hole into the war room floor. As it was, Natalle stood off to the side and commented instead, “You’re making me anxious just looking at you, Commander.”

“Nat,” Sethali replied, strained, “I appreciate your medical commentary, but I’m allowed to be anxious about this.”

“Never said you weren’t.” Natalle shrugged and smoothed her hands over the skirts of her robes, sitting in one of the war room’s available chairs. “But pacing won’t make you any  _ less _ anxious, either.”

Sethali sighed and balanced her hands on the edge of the war room’s table, waiting for the encrypted signal, sent from Acina’s throne-room, to connect. Several days after returning to Odessen from Voss, Sethali had received only fragmented reports from Silas on the current state of affairs in the Empire. Sethali had gotten together with Lana and Theron two days ago to tell them about Acina’s offer, and now all she was waiting on was Acina herself.

Part of Sethali wished Yevari was there, too, if only because she’d been the most adept at sniffing out when Acina had tricks up her sleeve. Sethali had been playing the spy game for years by now--even with minor Sith--but power struggles between Dark Lords had been somewhat outside her skillset.

As it was, Lana and Theron both got off the elevator for the war room and joined Sethali at the war table. No part of this situation was ideal, but she felt better going into it with her advisors nearby.

When Acina’s image emerged from the holoterminal, Sethali found herself in a pose mirroring Acina’s own, with her hands clasped behind her back, trying to appear somewhat casual and unaffected. Acina convincingly portrayed that image. Sethali didn’t know if she was half as successful.

“Empress Acina.” Sethali greeted carefully. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”

Acina bowed her head slightly. “Of course, Commander--it’s come to my attention that we might have common cause in the wake of the Eternal Empire being thrown into chaos.”

Sethali kept her expression neutral, but skepticism wound its way through her stomach uneasily. Theron had been keeping a steady pulse on the atmosphere on Zakuul right now, and while they certainly seemed somewhat confused without a clear direction, they were hardly dissolving into anarchy. “Oh?” was all she asked, because part of her was curious where Acina intended to go with this tactic.

“Indeed.” Acina’s gaze told Sethali that she was under an equal amount of scrutiny, if not more, but she refused to appear ruffled. “While an Exarch has seemingly stepped up to take on the majority of the Eternal Empire’s daily functions, its fleet remains a threat. You want to seize the Eternal Throne, and I can help you.”

“I have no doubt you  _ can _ , but why would you?” Sethali folded her arms this time, almost a blatant challenge. “I thought you might want it for yourself.”

Acina was completely unaffected--or if she  _ was _ irritated by Sethali’s line of conversation, she hid it remarkably well. “I am focused on the survival and well-being of my people.”

Sethali searched for an argument she could make to that statement, and found none readily available. “Then I assume you’ll want to discuss the particulars in person.”

“That would be ideal. I invite you to meet me on Dromund Kaas, and see how things have changed in your absence.” Acina said, letting her hands rest at her side, empty. By reflex, Sethali watched to see if she was potentially reaching for a lightsaber, even as she chastised herself for the absurdity of it. “Then, we will talk about our alliance.”

When Acina’s image vanished and Sethali confirmed the line was closed, she turned to her advisors. “Thoughts?”

“Acina would be a powerful ally,” Lana remarked, “if her intentions are genuine.”

“I still think she’s got some kind of angle.” Theron told her, “But I won’t know more until I can get into her computer systems.”

“Don’t get caught.” was all Sethali told him wryly. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Days after the short excursion she’d taken with the Alliance forces and their commander into Odessen’s wilderness, Vaylin found herself returning.

It was the appeal of the lesser-known, she decided, folding her arms and staring up through the branches of trees whose deep evergreen needles scattered over the faintly damp ground under her boots. Aside from the swamps outside the Spire, there was not much of this kind of greenery on Zakuul. The hedges were pretty enough, but small. They always seemed out of place to Vaylin, and seeing it here, on Odessen, only served to reinforce the idea.

Her fingers brushed over the spot on her belt where she kept the commander’s holocamera. She’d never asked for it back, and thus far, it hadn’t been missed. Vaylin supposed it was small enough of an item they didn’t care if even she was the one who kept it. Even if she didn’t know  _ why _ she’d kept it.

She took it out again now, turned it end over end in her hands. Its memory was nearly empty. Vaylin pulled her hood down and let it rest on her back, combing her fingers through dark hair that needed a washing, soon.

Every time she thought about going back to Odessen’s base, though, and all its cavernous emptiness, her chest tightened with something she hesitated to call  _ fear _ , but it may as well have been.

An even smaller part of her wanted to call it loneliness. Vaylin refused to acknowledge that particular idea. Wasn’t like it’d be a new concept.

Odessen’s sun began to set, and Vaylin knew if the commander’s advisors weren’t already looking for her, they soon would be, and she only reluctantly rose to her feet, still holding the holocamera in her hands as she looked out over the vale, awash with greenery. She could always come back tomorrow, unless something else interfered, but that still left a night in the stuffy living quarters, and the smell of cold, damp earth.

But perhaps she could take some of the wilderness outside with her.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Vaylin raised the holocamera so it encompassed the view of the wide, shallow valley outside Odessen base, and snapped a single image.

Turning the camera on its side so it would project the image, Vaylin twisted her lip and was mere seconds from destroying the camera in a rage-- _ a stupid idea, foolish, meaningless _ \--when the commander’s voice broke her concentration.

“Vaylin? What are you doing?” the commander wasn’t accusatory, no matter how much Vaylin dissected her tone, merely curious. Her hands on the camera tightened.

“Nothing.” she replied cagily. “What are  _ you _ doing?”

She raised a single brow. “Looking for you. I’m leaving tomorrow, with Lana and Theron, to go to Dromund Kaas. If you want to join us, you may.”

“And if I stay?” Vaylin drummed her fingers on the holocamera and immediately squelched the anxious fidgeting.

Aggravatingly enough, the commander just shrugged. “Up to you. It’ll probably be more exciting here--diplomatic pursuits aren’t exactly my strong point.” she nodded towards the holocamera in Vaylin’s hands. “You still have that?”

Vaylin thrust the holocamera out like it contained something contagious. “I don’t know why I do. Take it.” she said flatly.

The commander just blinked. “You can hang onto it, if you were using it. It’s not exactly irreplaceable.”

They stood like that for several seconds, Vaylin holding the camera out, until she slowly began to retract her arm, waiting for the commander to protest. She didn’t, and Vaylin was seized by indecision, between asking what the commander’s angle really was, and being smart enough to know that even if she  _ did, _ she wouldn’t share it with Vaylin if she  _ asked _ .

“Well, have fun on your fancy Alliance duties, then, Commander.” Vaylin waggled her fingers in a wave. “Bye now.”

She didn’t comment on clearly being dismissed, saying instead, “You know, I tell this to everyone, but you don’t have to call me by the title.”

“We’re not friends.” Vaylin could hardly believe she had to remind the  _ Alliance commander _ of that, but it obviously hadn’t gotten through yet.

Her smile was, if possible, even more aggravating. “Maybe not, but besides that, I don’t particularly like titles. I didn’t even ask for this one.”

There was no self-pity in her tone, just that matter-of-fact bluntness Vaylin was slowly coming to expect from the commander--from  _ Sethali _ , because Vaylin knew her name after reading over the file her brother’s analysts had put together after freezing her in carbonite over five years ago. She’d read the file at Arcann’s insistence until she’d nearly gone cross-eyed from her datapad’s illuminated text.

“Fine, then,” Vaylin said sullenly, “Sethali.”

She beamed, and Vaylin scowled. “I never told you my name.”

“Arcann had a file.” Vaylin snapped. “We’re still not friends.”

“As you like.” Sethali said, but she still had a badly-concealed smile on her face. “If you change your mind about Dromund Kaas before tomorrow, you’re welcome to.”

Then, mercifully, she left, and Vaylin watched the last of Odessen’s sunset as lightning bugs emerged and began to light up the evening with pinpricks of yellow. It transformed the landscape, though Vaylin doubted she’d get any quality images of it with no light.

Vaylin turned the camera on its side again, displayed the single image she’d taken earlier, when the sun was slowly setting, and shut it down, regarding the camera for a moment before attaching it to her belt once more.

She’d take it with her for just tonight, she told herself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short-ish chapter this time, but it'd been a while between updates and (hopefully) I've got some of my steam back, so there shouldn't be quite as long of a wait for the next update.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented or left kudos--your support means the world to me <3

Sleep had never been easy for Vaylin, but on Odessen it seemed to be eluding her much more than usual.

Every now and then, she turned over and reached for the holocamera, sitting on the table nearby, turning it on and letting the image of the valley she’d taken earlier envelop the room in artificial light. There were the greens of the trees and the pale, dusty brown of the footpaths already worn in from the Alliance’s relatively brief time here, and the riot of colors from its sunset.

But she could only stare at it for so long before her eyes began to hurt from the contrast of the bright holographic light with the all-encompassing darkness of the underground room, and she turned it off, sitting up and holding her elbows in her hands, hunched over slightly as her hair flopped messily over her forehead.

Absently, she let go of her elbows to brush her fingers over her tattooed forearms, exposed to the open air for the first time in weeks. She’d discarded her functional robes and just left the shirt she wore underneath it for sleeping in, and could feel where dried sweat made it stick to her back.

Feeling too restless to try and sleep for the time being, Vaylin snatched her cloak and robe again, throwing them haphazardly on and pulling the hood securely over her head before walking out into Odessen’s base, awash with moonlight.

She wasn’t fool enough to believe she wasn’t under surveillance here just because most of the base slept--guards patrolled into the small hours of the morning, and hidden devices had to be everywhere. The idea made Vaylin’s skin crawl, but she suspected trying to dismantle the devices would not be taken well.

Vaylin found herself in the infirmary.

She hadn’t been here since arriving on Odessen, and she told herself it was because she hadn’t been injured and didn’t need to be looked at, by  _ anyone _ . It definitely wasn’t because Mother was here, and Vaylin still hadn’t yet confronted what she felt about that fact.

“Good evening, High Justice.”

Vaylin jumped slightly and cursed her momentary lapse of vigilance. One of Sethali’s healers, the one with a choppy ginger bob, dark cosmetics, and a mask over where her eyes would’ve been, stood at the entrance to what was likely an office. Vaylin didn’t know, nor particularly care.

The use of the title, though, grated on Vaylin’s nerves, in a way she couldn’t necessarily define. “I’m not...” she started to retort, and didn’t know how she intended to finish it, before adding, “That’s not what I am.”

_ I don’t know what I am. _

A single ginger brow arched slightly. “Very well, then. Good evening, Vaylin.”

That was  _ almost _ better, but still not right--not from the mouths of these people, who she barely knew and certainly didn’t trust. “What do you want?” Vaylin grumbled.

“I should be asking you that, since you’re standing in  _ my _ infirmary.” the brow arched higher. “Are you here to see Senya?”

“No.” Vaylin snapped sharply. “I’m not here for her.”

“Then what  _ are _ you here for?” with a quick glance back inside her office, Vaylin got the feeling she was keeping the healer--Natalle, Vaylin vaguely remembered Sethali calling her Natalle--from some other task.

“Nothing.” Vaylin said flatly, turning abruptly on her heel and leaving before she could be questioned further. At least in the Spire, people who saw her roaming about at night weren’t nosy enough to  _ ask _ what she was doing, though ‘nothing’ was usually a pretty accurate response, anyway. There was nothing  _ to _ do here in the middle of the night.

Still, she didn’t feel like going back into that tiny, stony room to attempt sleep again, so she took the lift down into the slightly bigger, stony war room. At least the air wasn’t quite so musty down there.

As the lift stopped, though, one of the guards reached out to bar her progress, and her gaze whipped over to him. “Sorry, you can’t be down here without super--” he began to say.

“Let her through, lieutenant.” came Sethali’s voice, which was a surprise. Craning her head around the lieutenant’s helmet, Vaylin could see the commander sitting in a simple, metal chair beside the war room’s main holoprojection table, eyes locked on a datapad.

Her words had been absent, though, and the lieutenant hesitated. “Um, Commander, do you know--?”

“Yes.” Sethali said, looking up this time, a hint of exasperation on her face. “I know who’s here, lieutenant. Thank you.”

Reluctantly, the guard drew his arm back to let Vaylin through, and she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him as she walked up to the table. “Fancy meeting you here.” Vaylin remarked, and found humor came more easily to her with the commander around, since it seemed, so far, she was mostly receptive to it.

Sethali’s gaze had already locked back onto her datapad, and she didn’t look up as she responded, “I had reports to read before leaving for Dromund Kaas tomorrow.”

If Vaylin thought about it, she was choosing being around Mother or being around Father, and there was no real way to win in that situation, but at least Sethali didn’t  _ look _ like Father, and so far, she didn’t really sound like him, either. “Does it still count as ‘tomorrow’ if it’s past midnight?” Vaylin wondered pointedly.

Sethali huffed slightly and set her datapad down on the table. “‘Tomorrow’ is when I wake up after having at least snatched an hour of sleep, no matter what my chrono says.” Rubbing her face in both hands, she added, “I take it you couldn’t sleep, either.”

Vaylin sniffed. “What do you care?”

“Sleep is important.” Sethali pointed out, leaning back in her chair, crossing her ankles. “And you look tired.”

For all Natalle’s nosiness, though she must have noticed Vaylin looked tired, as well, at least she hadn’t  _ said _ something about it. That irritated her more than she cared to admit. “That’s none of your business. Worry about yourself.”

“All right.” Sethali held up one hand in what was likely supposed to be a placating gesture. “I’m sorry if I crossed any boundaries. You’re welcome to stay here if you like, though I doubt I’ll provide much entertainment.”

Just as quickly as it rose up, Vaylin’s anger deflated, and she sank sulkily into another nearby chair, watching the two war room guards out of the corner of her eye. She fidgeted in her chair, and finally balanced her heels on the edge of the holoprojection table. The silence felt too heavy, and Vaylin broke it. “Your healer’s nosy.” she remarked.

Sethali cracked a smile. “Nat’s like that sometimes. Usually she means well, but she’s also an insufferable gossip on occasion. Be careful what you tell her.”

Vaylin couldn’t tell if Sethali was joking or not, but took the statement at face value. Not that she was planning on sharing  _ anything _ with these people if she could help it.

“Did you change your mind about Dromund Kaas?” Sethali asked, picking her datapad back up again. “No pressure, of course, but we’re leaving in the next few hours.”

For now, Vaylin decided to shelve the realization that Sethali must have picked up on her discomfort with silence, filling it with idle conversation, and addressed the question at hand. She didn’t particularly want to stay on Odessen, not without something to do. Sethali had claimed this would mostly be a diplomatic mission, but upon reconsideration, Vaylin decided it was better than languishing around here.

“Fine.” Vaylin shrugged. “I always did want to travel.”

“Should have been a cipher agent.” there was a wry twist to Sethali’s mouth that could nearly be called a smile. “Though I wouldn’t recommend the severance package. You have to fake your own death to get it.”

Vaylin blinked incredulously and didn’t know, again, if Sethali was being serious. She was determined not to be curious, or express amusement at the commander’s surprising sense of humor. Instead she got up to leave, knowing that if she  _ was _ planning on joining the commander and her advisors on their trip to Dromund Kaas, she would at least want a nap beforehand.

“Good night, Vaylin.” Sethali said as she left, but Vaylin didn’t turn to respond as the lift carried her up.

 

* * *

 

Even after--or perhaps in spite of--the four years Sethali had spent in Kaas City in Lord Vani’s questionable custody, Dromund Kaas had never felt like home. Perhaps it was the stark change of scenery from the flashing neon lights and thick hedonism of Nar Shaddaa, where she’d spent the rest of her formative years, to the pristine and spartan extravagance of Kaas City, where the slightest infractions were punished with the harshest penalties. Perhaps it was due to Lord Vani herself. Perhaps it was even due to her tenure with Imperial Intelligence.

_ You’re on Imperial soil now, agent. Welcome home. _

Nearly a decade since Keeper had said that line to her, returning from Hutta, and still she remembered it, because of its bitter irony.

She felt no safer landing her shuttle in the Citadel’s lower docking bay--Acina’s people had forwarded their docking information beforehand, as well as directions to the rendezvous point where one of Acina’s minions would take them to the throne room.

Vaylin had spent the entire trip to Dromund Kaas in dour silence, but Sethali could see her gaze darting rapidly around the rooms they entered, searching for escapes, advantages, possible threats. Sethali knew the feeling all too well.

Before departing, Lana had expressed some concern at bringing Vaylin off Odessen, but Sethali had reasoned that this way, they could keep an eye on her more easily. It was a risk, and Sethali accepted that--she wasn’t naive enough to think Vaylin hadn’t considered escaping--but here, on the Imperial homeworld, security would almost be tighter than on Odessen.

When they arrived at the rendezvous, however, no one was waiting except a very harried-looking messenger, who told them Minister Lorman would be along shortly to take them to the empress, but was held up. Theron looked a little amused, and Sethali arched her brow. “You know him, I take it?”

“You could say that.” Theron replied dryly. “When I was still with the SIS there’s a possibility I blew up a prototype Sith warship. Lorman was the deputy commander.”

“A possibility, hmm?” Sethali arched a brow. “A strong possibility, I take it.”

“Yeah.” Theron rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s hope there’s no hard feelings.”

Sethali was about to open her mouth to respond when a shape that Sethali assumed was  _ not _ Minister Lorman came sweeping around the corner, clad in dark robes and a mask. He stood taller than Sethali, a feat in itself, but his stature seemed bizarrely familiar. She tensed anyway, and her gaze flickered to where a lightsaber was stashed on the man’s belt.

“May I help you?” Sethali asked coolly, folding her arms loosely, hearing the faint noise behind her that said Lana and Theron were both closing ranks with her. Vaylin stood a short distance away, in the corner of Sethali’s vision, and she tensed as well.

“Alliance Commander.” the man bowed his head slightly. “Darth Antahl. I would speak with you before you meet with Empress Acina.”

_ Darth Antahl. _ Now  _ that _ was an interesting development. Based on intelligence reports, Darth Antahl had been killed during the Eternal Empire’s initial foray into the Core Worlds, just before the destruction of Darth Marr’s flagship. Other reports claimed the Sith lord had been critically injured, but survived, and was rarely seen in public. She supposed she knew which was true, now.

However, he had not proven much of an ally to the cause the Wrath’s Hand fought for, and even in its fledgling days before Sethali vanished, they had not seen him as an amenable factor for change. Even if he was approaching her as Alliance Commander, and not a prominent, invisible member of the Hand, the fact he chose to contact them now was curious.

“Can I ask what this is about?” Sethali folded her arms and set her shoulders, meeting the empty gaze from behind Darth Antahl’s mask with nothing more than an even, mild curiosity. Sith masks were designed to intimidate, to make faceless monsters out of the people they’d once been, but there were always tells, and Sethali had long learned to read them. Darth Antahl’s body language was frustratingly vague, though, and Sethali’s jaw tightened further.

“The future of your Alliance, and that of the Empire.” Darth Antahl made a gesture with one arm. “I take it that interests you.”

It did, damn him. It interested Sethali a great deal, enough that she’d risked coming back to Dromund Kaas in the first place, despite her reservations with the Empire, despite her reservations with Acina personally, after hearing even just a little of what had happened to Lord Castor after she’d been separated from the rest of the Hand.

“Very well.” Sethali said icily, uncrossing her arms. “I don’t have long, however.”

“Our business will be swift.” Darth Antahl turned half to the side, inviting Sethali to walk with him.

Lana gripped Sethali’s elbow and said nothing, but arched a brow. Sethali shook her head, and Lana looked skeptical at best, but nodded, and released her. Vaylin watched with badly-concealed curiosity, and Sethali watched as Lana’s posture turned to keep her in better view. With an inward sigh, Sethali turned to follow Darth Antahl back down the corridor.

To her surprise, they seemed to be heading for the walkways that used to house Imperial Intelligence headquarters. Sethali felt her pulse elevate, and her efficiency scanner warned her that her blood pressure was rising.

“An odd location for a discussion.” Sethali remarked as they stood on the balcony that used to be where Intelligence’s taxi pad overlooked the city. “Especially considering Intelligence has been dismantled for years by now.”

Darth Antahl made no response, but instead stopped and reached for where his mask was fastened. It  _ clicked _ and slid free--

\--but the person underneath was most definitely  _ not _ Darth Antahl.

“Silas?” Sethali managed to keep the majority of her shock from showing in her tone, but she felt it was warranted, this time. “What’s going on?”

“The one time my resemblance to my late father came in useful.” Silas held up the mask and regarded it thoughtfully for a moment. “Before word spread of his death, I planted reports that contradicted them--that he was merely injured.” he shrugged as he attached the mask to his belt. “Now all of his resources are mine.”

Now that her shock had worn off, suspicion wormed its way into Sethali’s chest. “So, what is this about, then?”

“Commander, we both know that neither you nor I hold any trust for the Empire.” Silas arched one brow and planted hands upon hips, the daily drizzle from Kaas City’s near-constant overcast clouds turning his white-blond hair into a pale gold. “Or for the Empress.”

“You told me she was interested in discussing an alliance.” Sethali reminded him.

“I did,” Silas confirmed, and pulled his holocom from one pocket, “and she is  _ very _ interested in an alliance with you. Just as she was interested in appeasing the Eternal Throne when the time came to sign a treaty.”

“I don’t follow.” Sethali scowled.

Silas activated his holocom, and a recorded conversation played back, with two figures present: Empress Acina, and--

“Is that  _ Yev?” _ Sethali gaped. “Lord Castor told me that she’d been jumping between Imperial worlds for years after I vanished, before the Hand lost their last stronghold on Dromund Kaas. Lana said she’d vanished into Wild Space after, with the  _ Doombringer.” _

“She did.” Silas confirmed. “Along with what remained of her fleet. Listen.”

_ “So if I’m understanding this correctly, you want to put our past disagreements behind us and, what, bring me and my people back to the Empire? Are we that desperate for ships?”  _ Yevari’s image in miniature shifted her weight as she spoke, and Sethali’s chest tightened with an odd combination of wistfulness and fear--she missed Yevari dearly, but she was simultaneously afraid for what Acina had planned for the rogue Dark Lord.

_ “Hardly--you do, however, as much as I hate to admit it, carry a great deal of influence among our people.” _ Acina’s image countered. _ “And, if your record is any indication, with other factions, as well.” _

_ “Again, if I recall, that influence was what led us to where we are now. The only reason you’d be contacting me now is if that influence was something you could exploit. And to be perfectly frank, I have no desire to be one of your pawns.” _

The recording ended, and Silas said, “Having Darth Imperius on her side would have lended Acina a significant advantage when negotiating with you--especially if Darth Imperius vouched for Acina’s intentions. Acina believes you intend to seize the throne, which, if you are successful, would make you a  _ very _ valuable ally for the Empire to have.”

“I see.” Sethali said, and her voice could have frozen a lightsaber’s blade solid. “What happened to Yev after that?”

“I’m afraid I have no further information, aside from the fact Darth Imperius obviously isn’t here.” Silas stowed his holocom and folded his arms in a mirrored posture to Sethali’s. “I received a portion of Darth Imperius and Empress Acina’s call through an agent aboard one of Acina’s vessels, but they could not transmit anything further without risking discovery.”

“Thank you for informing me.” Sethali planted fists upon hips and stared out at the Kaas City skyline, which had never felt like home, and felt more alone than ever. “I don’t exactly have many options at the moment, so I’ll likely have to take Acina’s offer anyway. At least I can stay informed about her motives.”

“This wasn’t merely an informative meeting.” Silas linked his hands behind his back. “I have an offer for you, as well, Commander.”

“I’m listening.” Sethali said as she felt her holocom start to go off in her pocket. Turning the sound off, she folded her arms again.

“I still have my father’s considerable resources at my disposal,” Silas began, “and I could readily make them available to you. I cannot offer what an Empress can, perhaps, but with covert allies, we could attempt to track Darth Imperius down, and I imagine she would be eager to support your cause. We might even be able to find Lord Castor, and the missing former emperor. All of those figures could prove invaluable in building alliances within the Empire, to say nothing of the two Dark Lords already among your ranks.”

“I would make an enemy of Acina.” Sethali pointed out. “And I don’t know if our Alliance is ready to face the full might of the Empire yet. Not to mention, Kahla and Natalle aren’t exactly active in Sith politics these days. They both surrendered their titles after joining me.”

“You might make Acina your enemy,” Silas countered, “but I doubt she would dislike you as much as she dislikes having the Eternal Empire choke off any chance of rebellion or rebuilding. She wouldn’t strike at you directly because she still wants the Eternal Throne’s oversight gone. And regardless of their titles, Darth Syron’s and Darth Anrix’s names still hold power here.”

“It’s a risk.” Sethali frowned thoughtfully as her holocom buzzed in her pocket again. “I’ll consider it, though.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Silas nodded towards Sethali’s persistently-buzzing holocom. “I believe that means your people are likely trying to inform you Acina is ready to meet. We’ll be in touch soon, regardless of what alliance you make.”

“Soon.” Sethali agreed, reaching for her holocom even as she turned to make her way back down the Citadel’s walkways. “Thank you, Silas.”

Lana emerged from Sethali’s holocom, an irritable and impatient expression adorning her face. “Minister Lorman is here, Commander.” she said, and Sethali immediately realized Lana’s irritation wasn’t directed at  _ her _ \--not in its entirety, at least--but at the minister, if the way she said his name was any indicator. “It seems Empress Acina is ready to meet with us in the throne room.”

“I’ll be there in just a moment.” Sethali told her, glancing briefly around for any obvious signs of surveillance. “I had a very interesting conversation with Darth Antahl.”

“I’ll have to hear about it later.” Lana replied. “See you soon.”

As soon as she arrived back at the rendezvous point again, she and her advisors were ushered into a speeder--though Vaylin was ushered with only the utmost caution, and Sethali didn’t need the Force to sense Lorman’s unease.

“Any security concerns should have been brought to our attention before your arrival.” Lorman told Sethali primly, to which Sethali had replied with a look of mild, lofty consideration.

“We will handle our own security measures, thank you.” Sethali told him eventually, and while it was clear the minister hadn’t wanted to back down, he grudgingly acquiesced to Sethali’s statement.

That was only one battle Sethali knew she’d have to fight regarding Vaylin’s presence here, however. Acina would be another matter entirely, but given what she knew through Silas, Acina would be eager to reach an agreement with her, and that might earn her some leniency.

At the throne room, Sethali turned briefly to watch Vaylin out of the corner of her eye. Vaylin had a cagy look about her, gaze darting around the room as if looking for hidden threats. Her posture was slightly hunched, hands clenched into fists at her side.

Acina rose from her throne, and she  _ definitely _ didn’t look happy. She smoothed her expression down into one of vague irritation before Sethali could say anything, and began, “Commander. I would rather not begin our talks with a discussion about security.”

“Lorman already expressed his concerns, and I will tell you what I told him.” Sethali replied calmly, moving to stand closer to Vaylin--not blocking her view of Acina or the rest of the throne room, but making it clear she would not back down from her stance. “We will handle our own security measures. I accept responsibility for my people’s actions, and the former High Justice is a member of the Alliance.”

Acina still didn’t look pleased, but nodded once, briskly. “Then let us begin with today’s business.”

“Yes, let’s begin.” Sethali agreed, stepping slightly away from Vaylin now it seemed Acina wasn’t planning on objecting any further to her presence. Vaylin’s look, out of the corner of Sethali’s eye, was perplexing--something like thoughtful suspicion. “I apologize if we were late--I was speaking with Darth Antahl.”

Acina looked more appeased at that, and said, “I’m glad to see you’re making yourself at home in our city again, Commander. I hope you’ll have the time to see how things have changed--for the better.”

“Empress,” Lorman spoke up, and Sethali’s scanner informed her that her blood pressure was rising again, “I’d urge you not to be so critical.”

“Change is usually a positive thing.” Sethali interjected, unable to bite her tongue. “Even if some in the Empire might disagree.”

She couldn’t help some bitterness in that, but Acina’s expression didn’t change. “Your doubt is understandable, Commander, but I hope you will at least hear my offer.”

“Of course I will.” Sethali nodded once and linked her hands behind her back.

“However,” Acina added, “I would like to continue this conversation on my shuttle, speaking openly. Just the two of us.”

Common sense told Sethali that Acina wouldn’t try to kill her without the ability to blame the act on someone else, in true Sith fashion--not to mention, her death would stall talks of an alliance considerably. None of that knowledge made Sethali feel any better about the terms of their discussion, but she could hardly refuse. “Very well. If you’ll give me a moment to make a call?”

“Of course.” Acina bowed her head graciously. “Meet me at my shuttle when you’re ready to depart.”

After Acina was out of earshot and Lorman had left, Lana turned to Sethali and said, “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, but I can’t refuse here, in her territory.” Sethali pursed her lips. “Theron...?”

“Yeah, I’ll see if I can dig into the main network, but knowing what to look for would be nice.” Theron replied.

“Any information on Darth Imperius or her fleet.” Sethali replied without missing a beat, thinking back to her discussion with Silas. “I’m not holding my breath for anything new on Cass, but look for anything on her as well.”

“And Vaylin?” Lana glanced over to where Vaylin stood, just far enough it was unclear if she was within earshot or not, obviously apart from the group.

“I’ll talk to her. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.” Sethali ordered finally.

As Sethali approached where Vaylin stood, she remarked, “Your friends don’t seem to like me all that much.”

“Well,” Sethali replied mildly, “they don’t trust you yet. You don’t trust them, either--not that I’d expect you to, this soon after joining us.”

“So I’m to just sit here and wait for you to return?” Vaylin scowled, and Sethali shrugged.

“I doubt you’d prefer to discuss diplomacy with the Sith empress.” she pointed out. “And you have an important task here.”

“My ‘important task’ is to sit and wait.” Vaylin folded her arms and her scowl deepened.

“Not at all.” Sethali reached for her holocom, but didn’t dial Silas’ frequency yet. “You’re ensuring the security of yourself and my advisors while I speak to the Empress. I know you were likely in earshot of our talk--you know Theron is going to be slicing Acina’s main network, which carries a portion of risk. I’m counting on you to help them achieve that goal.”

Vaylin’s lip twisted. “Fine.”

Sethali watched as Vaylin left, ensuring she went into the same area Lana and Theron had been escorted to, before she dialed Silas’ frequency, and he answered almost immediately. “Commander.”

“Silas.” Sethali lowered her voice. “Acina and I are departing in her personal shuttle to discuss her terms for this alliance. I don’t believe she intends to cause me harm there, but there may be other parties who are. Just...keep an eye on things.”

“I always do.” Silas arched one brow. “Do you think one of Acina’s people could attempt to sabotage your talks?”

“Knowing Sith politics, I’d bet my life on it.” Sethali said dryly. “Thank you, Silas.”

 

* * *

 

Out of all her spur of the moment decisions since the battle on Arcann’s flagship, Vaylin thought her idea to accompany the Commander to Dromund Kaas was by far one of her worst.

The walls here pressed down on her, stark and pristine, and she found herself warding off a chill she didn’t think came from the  _ horrid _ weather outside. Everything here was either in sterile white or black or red, for a tiny splash of color, and the contrast made her feel anxious. Red was a color of warning, of caution, an instinct older than the modern galaxy.

Even that, however, wasn’t  _ nearly _ as bad as sitting here with Sethali’s advisors, doing absolutely  _ nothing _ . No matter what she said about Vaylin having an ‘important’ job.

“Swear these networks get tighter every time we’re here.” Theron muttered from the console on the other side of the room.

“Perhaps because you’re not as untraceable a slicer as you think you are.” Lana joked from where she knelt on the floor, deep in concentration.

“Hey, I’d like to see  _ you _ try getting through this many layers of encryption without being noticed.”

Vaylin was about to tune their banter out when she sensed someone coming, and Lana tensed as well. “It’s the minister.” she whispered, and Theron quickly shut down any evidence of misconduct, leaning casually on the wall with one shoulder.

Minister Lorman was, far and away, one of the most annoying people Vaylin had yet to encounter since leaving Zakuul, and for once she didn’t think she was alone in that belief, judging by Lana’s pursed lips and the thread of barely-detectable stress in Theron’s frame.

“Honored guests,” Minister Lorman bowed slightly. “I bring  _ tragic _ news. The Empress’ shuttle has crashed, somewhere in the jungle.”

“What?” Lana’s weight shifted in her shock, and Theron’s jaw all but dropped. “What about the emergency locator beacon?”

“I’m afraid it isn’t transmitting.” Lorman’s attempt at a sorrowful demeanor was pitiful, and Vaylin frowned. “The shuttle must have been disintegrated. The only conclusion we can draw is that the Commander and the Empress...are dead.”

Vaylin closed her eyes and realized she  _ had, _ very suddenly, just been given the most important job on this planet, the most important and the most  _ thankless _ . Reaching through the Force, she felt for Father, for Valkorion, and found his essence, still sitting squarely in Sethali’s skull. Their beloved commander wasn’t dead--not yet, at any rate--which meant Lorman was either wrong...or lying.

When Vaylin tuned back in to the conversation, only Lana and Theron remained in the room, quietly and urgently discussing what to do, what to believe, and Vaylin spoke up, casting her glance around the room for any evidence the minister was planning on keeping more subtle tabs on them.

“So the empress’ pet minister is gone, is he?” she said, loudly enough that she had a feeling the minister in question would’ve protested had he been in earshot, and no response echoed from the corridor beyond.

“Vaylin, if you--” Lana said tiredly, but Vaylin cut across, lowering her voice to match theirs.

“Sethali’s not dead.” she said flatly. “Valkorion’s spirit is still rattling around in that head of hers. Which means your minister was either misinformed, or he wasn’t honest.”

Lana stopped mid-sentence, expression still slightly agape, before her jaw snapped shut with a  _ click _ and she asked, “Do you know where they are?”

Vaylin shrugged. “Not really. Still on the planet. Nothing specific.”

“Theron.” was all Lana said, but it was apparently enough.

“I’m on it.” and he was already back at the console he’d been messing with earlier, typing faster than Vaylin could keep up with.

_ I’m counting on you to help them achieve that goal. _

Vaylin still didn’t know where she fit here, with this Alliance--and she didn’t know if she  _ ever _ would, or even if that was what she  _ wanted _ \--but here, right now, her powers had made a difference.

It was, she decided, at the very least, something to think about.


	11. Chapter 11

There was no challenge in healing--whether with the Force or standard practices--that Natalle had ever considered too great.

Whereas some on the Council had considered her too “hands-on” in her methods, preferring to undertake research herself rather than assign researchers from her power base, Natalle had done all her own work, her  _ best _ work, all by herself. It was a point of pride, to be certain, and if Kahla was to be believed, it was something that Natalle occasionally took too  _ much _ pride in.

There was no challenge Natalle considered too great in the avenues of healing...but the task laid before her by the Commander some months ago was proving to be one of her greatest.

All of the files left over from the dissolution of Imperial Intelligence nearly seven years ago now were pulled up on Natalle’s terminal, and she had her computer read them out to her in its monotone, disinterested voice while she turned a holographic diagram of a chemical compound labeled ‘dimalium-6’ around on her desk, looking over its angles and compounds for the hundredth time.

Dimalium-6, according to Intelligence’s leftover files, was the chemical the Empire had used to brainwash its agents, by applying a codeword as the chemical ‘rewrote’ new neural pathways, opening up the ability to command the person being brainwashed. From what the Commander had told her--and what her own research had turned up--it seemed the Commander had ‘undone’ her conditioning by simply overwriting it, applying a new codeword and closing her brain’s ability to accept commands entirely. A crude method, but Natalle supposed the Commander wouldn’t exactly have had access to her expertise back then.

When Natalle had asked what the Commander’s end goal of this task was, it had taken some time to fully articulate the question. Natalle had finally told her, point-blank,  _ “It seems you’ve already closed off your ability to receive commands. What do you want me to do?” _

And the Commander had told her, hands clasped tightly in her lap and sweat beading on her brow as she’d told Natalle everything she could about her Castellan restraints,  _ “I’m only safe so long as no one finds out my new codeword. I’d rather die before giving it up to anyone. But...” _

_ “You’d rather not have to worry about that possibility.” _

_ “I’d rather not, no.” _

Even when speaking of the most terrifying and traumatizing thing that had ever happened to her, there had been a little humor in the Commander’s tone. Natalle could respect that.

It brought her no closer to a solution, though, and her head began to ache--a glance at the chrono told her that over four hours had passed since she’d last made her rounds in the infirmary, and it was likely time for another. Taking on Kahla’s workload as well as her own had seemed manageable in theory for a short period of time, but it’d been several days by now. They’d expected Kahla, at the very least, to have awakened by now, and, even if she wasn’t ready to take on her usual responsibilities just yet, she could do  _ something. _

Natalle would rather die than admit it, but some part of her missed Kahla’s nagging.

Shutting off her monitors, Natalle pulled her robe on over the casual clothes reserved for her office--somewhat plain by Sith standards, but Natalle was in the business of healing and scientific research, not  _ fashion-- _ and strode briskly out into the hallways of her infirmary.

Kahla’s room was, of course, her first stop, and rather than take a passing glance at her monitors to verify everything was in order, Natalle palmed the door control and set foot inside.

Much like when she’d found the Commander herself sitting here late at night, Natalle felt a curious combination of emptiness and frustration. From her youth, from long before she had ever trained to be Sith, the Force had called to her as a healer. From her desperate, scrappy days in Ziost’s combat arenas, her power had been the only thing keeping her, and all she’d once held dear, from a grisly death.

And yet, despite how far she had come, despite all she had learned in her time as a Sith lord, as Darth Acharon’s most favored apprentice, later his successor, she could not solve this. And, if her stonewalled research was any indication, she was no closer to solving the Commander’s problem, either.

She let out a frustrated breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose, where her eye mask rested. What was the  _ point _ of being this intelligent, this powerful, and not being able to apply it when it  _ mattered? _

From the medical bed, Kahla let out a faint noise that sounded more coherent than anything she’d said in her sleep the past several days, and Natalle shook off her lingering doubts, straightening her shoulders as she picked up the datapad with Kahla’s vital readings. They angled sharply up, creating jagged lines across the screen where there used to be only sedately rising and falling slopes.

And that meant...

Natalle set her datapad down roughly with a  _ clack _ on the nearby metal table and took the quick, clipped strides necessary to reach Kahla’s bedside. She dug deep within herself, for that connection she had always had, as long as she could remember, to her ability to  _ mend. _

This time, unlike all the many times before it, Kahla stirred, and Natalle relented--she didn’t want to overwhelm Kahla with a sudden burst of Force energy if she really  _ was _ about to wake up. Natalle waited, hands still clasped in concentration, for a sign.

It came in the form of a thready whisper. “...Natalle?”

Natalle sniffed disdainfully to hide her relief, but knew Kahla would be able to sense it anyway. “Decided to rejoin the land of the living, did you? About time.”

Kahla paused, presumably gathering her thoughts, then asked, her voice still weak and somewhat hoarse from lack of use, “Where’s Senya?”

“Resting elsewhere in the infirmary, and  _ no, _ you may not go to see her.” Natalle scowled. “Not until I clear you. You can barely speak to me, Kahla. I’m not letting you off bed-rest.”

Kahla chuckled as her eyes drifted shut again, and Natalle’s frown deepened. “It must have been bad. You’re hovering.”

Natalle bristled, and began to reassess how much she’d  _ actually _ missed Kahla’s nagging. “I was not!”

“You were.” Kahla teased.

Natalle scoffed and was about to respond when sudden footsteps around the corner made her tense and start to reach for where she kept her lightsaber--Yuhanos emerged suddenly, shock and disbelief mingling to produce a steady thrum of anxiety deep in Natalle’s chest.

“Minister Lorman’s people called, from Dromund Kaas.” he told them, still seemingly unable to believe what he was saying. “The Commander is dead.”

 

* * *

 

Vaylin took back what she’d thought about her  _ important  _ job earlier, but only part of it. It was still thankless, but it felt less important every time Lana turned to ask her if Sethali was still alive.

Finally, Vaylin had snapped, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you if she winds up dead.”

Lana had been about to snap something back, Vaylin knew, when she’d turned abruptly away like she couldn’t be bothered. Part of Vaylin was a little disappointed; it would have kept things interesting, at least.

But when several minutes passed and neither Lana nor Theron engaged her again, Vaylin began to fidget, clenching her fingers around the seat of the chair she’d claimed for herself earlier, watching the doorway for any sign of intruders, though relying on her senses would’ve been far more reliable, and would provide much more warning in advance.

Casting another look over at the computer console, where Lana and Theron were paying rapt attention to something on the screen, Vaylin slowly got up and took a few silent strides towards the door, still open to the corridor beyond. Neither of them remarked on it, and Vaylin whisked around the corner before they could.

She didn’t know where she was going, but she needed to be out of that room, small and confining, away from Lana and Theron and the prying eyes of the Imperials. With a swift hand gesture, she cloaked herself with the Force, vanishing from the sight of all but the most powerful--and none of the people in the immediate vicinity even came close.

Free to explore the limited radius of where she couldn’t be detected, Vaylin caught the sound of voices conversing several rooms over, one of them feminine and distorted by the tell-tale digital buzz of a holocall, the other belonging to the minister, if she had to guess.

Vaylin shrugged to herself. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

As her silent footsteps neared where the two voices seemed to be originating, Vaylin conclusively identified Minister Lorman as one--the other, feminine voice was one Vaylin felt she  _ should _ have recognized, but didn’t.

“I delivered the news to the Commander’s advisors,” the minister was saying as Vaylin sidled up to the edge of the doorway, “but I feel it very likely they will attempt to search for her in the jungle anyway.”

“Reports from the GenoHaradan squads say Acina’s shuttle crashed, but that isn’t enough.” the woman snapped, and Vaylin risked turning her head around the corner--even with the assurance of her invisibility to their eyes, caution was warranted here, for once--and the woman on Lorman’s holo was twi’lek, wearing a uniform with a cape flowing down to her ankles. It was impossible to tell her coloring by holo. “I want to see the bodies. If they don’t confirm it in the next half hour, detain the Commander’s advisors. I’ll attempt to make them see reason.”

“I’ll station men by the elevator to prevent them from leaving.” Lorman reported. “And the GenoHaradan will have confirmation soon.”

“See that they do. Saresh out.”

_ Saresh. _ The former Grand Chancellor of the Republic. She’d served out her term and refused to discuss surrender in the aftermath of Arcann’s campaign in the Core Worlds, according to her brother’s reports. If she and an Imperial minister were working together, well, it at least confirmed Vaylin’s suspicion that Lorman hadn’t been honest. Not that she was surprised.

Vaylin turned and fully intended to bring her discoveries back to Sethali’s advisors--provided they even believed her, which was unlikely--when the emergence of several Imperial troopers forced Vaylin to move out of the way before any of them unknowingly collided with her. She careened haphazardly into some kind of pedestal with an ancient vase on top of it, and quickly righted it, hoping no one had witnessed the blunder. What was  _ far _ more important was that they were headed back the way Vaylin came, towards Lana and Theron.

She let out an exasperated sigh. Of  _ course _ it fell to her to do something about this rapidly-approaching crisis. What she planned to do, however, was still up in the air. What she  _ could _ do, while cloaked with the Force, severely limited her options.

Turning and heading the opposite direction from where Sethali’s advisors had been left to their own devices, Vaylin realized a Sith lord--the very same masked Sith who Sethali had spoken to before meeting with Acina--was striding briskly down the corridor, on a collision course for where Vaylin hesitated by the wall. She scowled as he slowed, then came to a stop.

“I know you’re here.” the lord--Darth Antahl, she quickly recalled--said aloud. “Security camera footage is looping for five minutes before we’re discovered. I know what you overheard. And I know that the Commander’s advisors are going to be detained shortly. I don’t know where the Commander or the Empress are now, but I can help you start looking.”

“Why should I trust you?” Vaylin demanded warily, still cloaked, hoping her voice wasn’t enough to pinpoint her location. “And what makes you think I care what happens to the Commander or your Empress?”

“Would you rather be taken into Imperial custody when Saresh and Lorman’s mercenaries kill them both?” Darth Antahl snapped.

Vaylin scoffed. “I’d like to see them  _ try  _ to take me.”

“Oh? Perhaps if you ever meet Lord Castor, you can ask her how well that attitude worked out for her.” Darth Antahl replied smoothly. “Now--I can’t orchestrate the release of the Commander’s advisors without appearing suspect, but you weren’t present when they were detained. Thus, you are in the best place to find them.”

“Putting an awful lot of trust in me.” Vaylin’s grin was empty and cold.

“There’s no element of trust involved.” Darth Antahl informed her. “Only necessity. I cannot leave, and I cannot release her advisors. You’re the only one who can do  _ anything, _ for now, as much as I don’t particularly relish leaving the Commander’s--and thus, the Alliance’s--fate in your hands, and time is of the essence.”

She could have refused. It was a fact she acknowledged and dismissed a split second later. She  _ could _ have refused, yes, but it wouldn’t gain her much. As much as she still didn’t know about Sethali, she knew even less about Lorman and Saresh--and all she knew about Lorman was that he seemed practically spineless and cowardly.

“Fine.” Vaylin folded her arms. “But I don’t like this.”

“Trust in that I feel even less confident about this than you.” Darth Antahl told her. “But we’re out of options, aside from calling Odessen for reinforcements--and even they would not arrive in time.”

“Yes, I get it already.” Vaylin scowled. “Where did they disappear?”

“Acina’s shuttle crashed in the middle of the jungle outside Kaas City.” Darth Antahl handed her a holocommunicator, and it projected a series of coordinates in relation to a map of the city and its surrounding areas. “That is the best place to begin.”

“And I’m supposed to walk there?” Vaylin made an incredulous gesture at the Citadel around them, teeming with Imperial troopers and lesser Sith--Vaylin could sense them even from here. “Through the middle of the city?”

There was a possibility, Vaylin realized, she’d be asked to  _ fight _ her way out, but dismissed that too--her lightsaber had yet to be returned to her, and while she was more than powerful enough to take this place by storm, she doubted it would endear her to any of the Alliance personnel still here.

When had she started to care what the Alliance thought of her? No, she rationalized, she didn’t care what they thought of her--she cared that eventually, regardless of the power she could bring to bear, there would come a time that she would eventually be overwhelmed. And she surely didn’t want to die here.

“Are you listening to me?”

Vaylin snapped back to the present in time for Darth Antahl’s annoyed glare to make her bristle--even through a mask, his irritation was evident. She didn’t reply, but he didn’t seem to need one.

“I  _ said,” _ he repeated, “if you hurry, and pay  _ attention, _ there’s a speeder that will take you outside the city, and from there the shuttle’s crash site should be a short walk.”

“You don’t think I’ll try to escape?” Vaylin’s cold grin returned. Once, not that long ago, she might have savored the threat of leaving the Alliance Commander and her potential allies to die, but now, annoyingly enough, it just felt...empty.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Darth Antahl already  _ sounded _ like he regretted it, but it was out of his hands now--out of hers, too, somehow--and they both knew it.

Vaylin made no promises, but the Sith didn’t seem to need one. He turned and stalked briskly back down the hallway, leaving Vaylin with the holocommunicator that held Sethali and Acina’s last known coordinates.

“Well.” Vaylin said to the empty air. “I suppose it’s time to play hero.”

 

* * *

 

Naisha had been on Zakuul for too long.

She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, a constant, subtle stir in the Force that made apprehension churn in Naisha’s stomach, like she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to, and feared being caught.

In a way, she supposed that was the case--she was  _ supposed _ to be back on Corellia, maintaining her Star Fortress, guiding the people on the planet below. Zakuul was home, but Corellia was where duty lay, and duty had always taken precedence.

Within the Eternal Throne’s spire, there were living quarters for each Exarch, maintained in their absence and frequently empty. Back when the war had been raging and the Core Worlds had been putting up the most resistance, Naisha had spent a great deal of time here, until her assignment to Corellia. Now, though, it had been months since she’d last set foot within, and its pristine nature troubled her more than she felt it should’ve. It felt like she hadn’t been gone at all.

What interested her far more at the moment, however, was the holoterminal in the corner, with a secure line linking her directly to her Star Fortress. Checking the chrono for Corellia’s current time, Naisha sent the outbound signal.

Two Knights--Knight-Captain Imaka Cedu and Knight Malkir Trigo--were her right and left hands, both cybernetically enhanced in the same manner, though not to the same degree, as she was. Knight-Captain Cedu had served alongside Naisha back when they were both young, green Knights, and despite Knight Trigo’s youth, he’d proven adept at qualities Arcann had once looked for in his Exarchs. More than once, Naisha had considered him a possible replacement for her post when or if she ever fell from it.

They both answered now--Knight-Captain Cedu with her deceptively thin-lipped and stern expression, Knight Trigo with a straightened back and raised chin--and Naisha linked her hands at the small of her back. “Knight-Captain. Knight.”

“Exarch.” Knight-Captain Cedu bowed slightly before straightening again. “What news from the Spire?”

“I have convened with the other Exarchs, but we are no closer to reaching consensus on what to do next.” Naisha pursed her lips and felt a headache begin to throb in her temples again. “There is a possibility for an accord with Exarch Gair, of Belsavis, but nothing is certain yet. Have there been any incidents in my absence?”

‘Incidents’, naturally, being a very polite term for uprisings on the planet’s surface, attempts at rebellion. Some Exarchs had been heavy-handed in utilizing their Star Fortress’ weapons to put said revolts down, but Corellia was a stubborn, prideful world, and required an approach with more finesse. Trying to drown a fire with more fuel was rarely successful.

“No, Exarch.” Knight Trigo spoke up. “If you require more time to determine our next course of action, we can manage affairs in your absence a while longer. It won’t be long before word begins to spread that the Exarchs are absent from their Fortresses, however--no matter how much we attempt to conceal it.”

“I’m aware.” Naisha worked her jaw and considered her options. “Expect my arrival within the week. If the current political climate is stable, for the time being, there are a few other tasks I must accomplish while I’m still on Zakuul.”

“Understood.” Knight-Captain Cedu paused. “Exarch--can I ask who was present for your meeting with the other Exarchs?”

“Exarchs from Alderaan, Nar Shaddaa, Belsavis, and Tatooine were in attendance.” Naisha frowned thoughtfully. “May I ask why?”

“I simply find it curious that Voss’ Exarch was absent.” Knight-Captain Cedu remarked at last. “Voss is a critical world--his word would carry significant weight.”

Naisha picked up her datapad, recalling something that an aide from a few days ago had mentioned--the royal family had been sighted on Voss, along with a small contingent of Alliance vessels. The information had come from an anonymous tip, but it made no sense for Exarch Melor to be the one who had done it--they were both servants of the Eternal Throne, and worked towards the same goals. It was rarely in the Exarchs’ nature to tiptoe around one another.

Perhaps that, like so many other things, was changing.

“I will look into it.” Naisha said at last. “Let me know if there are any new developments.”

“Yes, Exarch.” Knight-Captain Cedu bowed again, and Knight Trigo copied her. “We look forward to your return.”

Then, their images vanished, and left the room curiously bereft. Naisha had never considered herself a particularly lonely person, but this room felt too barren, too impersonal, for her to think of it as home, or to feel comfortable within it.

She now had the reassurance, at least, that everything was running smoothly on Corellia, and that meant a small amount of indulgence was in order.

_ But first... _

Naisha departed her quarters and took the turns that brought her to the central elevator. At the viewport looking out over Zakuul’s orbit, Naisha found Exarch Gair, still fully-armored and carrying her pike loosely in her hand like she expected a fight.

“Gair.” Naisha said as she stood at the viewport.

“Vyrint.” Exarch Gair replied carefully, guarded and neutral. Her grip on her lightsaber pike tightened ever so slightly. Naisha didn’t reach for hers.

“I suppose you’re preparing to depart for Belsavis?” she asked casually, linking her hands behind her back and letting some of the tension drain from her shoulders--a deliberately open stance, designed to lower someone’s guard, though Naisha doubted that alone would get Exarch Gair to relax.

Gair shook her head in response. “Not until I know what we plan to do about the Alliance. The resistance on Belsavis has always been strong, but I cannot risk using my Fortress’ weaponry without destroying the vaults deep within Belsavis’ structures.”

Naisha made an absent noise of sympathy at Gair’s frustrated tone, but there was little feeling in it. Forta Gair was young to be an Exarch, at least a decade Naisha’s junior, and skittish. Quick to retaliate and harsh in her punishments, she was not Naisha’s ideal ally, but her situation had stopped being ideal the moment she’d been forced to leave Corellia and seek more permanent alliances among her fellow Exarchs.

She suspected Gair had been sent to Belsavis  _ because _ of her recklessness--ruling over a world where force was forbidden as a first option to settling the planet’s revolts had taught Gair patience, though not much subtlety. “For now, we have the advantage, so long as our worlds don’t discover our absence.”

“That narrows our window of opportunity.” Gair muttered, reaching up for her helmet with her free hand and slowly removing it, tucking it under her arm with her lightsaber pike still held securely in her main hand. “If we intend to make a move, it must be soon.”

“Perhaps.” Naisha treaded more carefully now--she wanted to plant the idea in Gair’s head without it being obvious, but such maneuvering was difficult among fellow Exarchs. “In this case it might be more beneficial to wait for the Alliance to act first. If they spread their resources too thin, it presents opportunities to cut them off from one another.”

“That would be difficult to do if there is no accord with our fellows.” Gair turned and met Naisha’s gaze solidly, and Naisha found herself impressed. Gair wasn’t as careless or as blind as she’d thought, then. It made Naisha’s present task more difficult, but if she succeeded, Gair could be a powerful ally--more importantly, an ally that her potential enemies might underestimate.

“Indeed it would.” Naisha looked away and stared down at the distant, flickering lights from the Spire, kilometers below the orbit-level viewports. “That’s why I originally wanted to gather our people here--to determine how best to allocate our resources. I like to think you came for similar reasons.”

“I did, at that.” Gair turned back to the viewport as well. “As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m talking to you.”

“Oh?” Naisha folded her arms and looked at her fellow Exarch with her one good eye, narrowed slightly with suspicion.

“While the fleet is still out of our hands,” Gair said, lip twisted slightly with disapproval, “once we find a way to seize it again, it will only be a matter of time before our fellows go for one another’s throats, for lack of a better term. That kind of divisiveness could be disastrous for our empire.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Naisha hadn’t foreseen  _ Gair _ initiating talks of a more permanent alliance for the good of the empire, but she wouldn’t argue.

“You may eschew the title of Empress, Naisha,” Gair said quietly, and Naisha flinched slightly at the use of her first name, “but you were the one who orchestrated this, and began the process for taking control of our empire with Arcann and Vaylin’s departure. I don’t agree with all of your methods, but our goals align.”

“It seems they do.” Naisha replied, unable to fully disguise her shock. “We have an accord, then?”

“We do.” Gair confirmed. “For so long as it remains beneficial to us both. I’m returning to Belsavis shortly. I’ve received reports that my Knights captured a lone vessel, of an Imperial classification, and are attempting to discern whether or not it had allies close by. I intend to interrogate the chief officers myself.”

Something about that idea--a single Imperial vessel, far beyond their designated corner of the galaxy--made Naisha uneasy. “I think I should like to know if any actionable information comes from the vessel.”

“All I know for now is its name:  _ Celestial Shadow.” _ Gair informed her. “But if I discover something relevant to our current security situation, I will contact you.”

“Very well. Safe journey to you.” Naisha said absently, still thinking about a lone Imperial vessel, the Alliance ships on Voss, the missing members of the royal family...she felt there was a connection present that she was missing.

Gair departed, and left Naisha standing alone, staring down at Zakuul. Not for the first time since Valkorion’s demise at the hands of the Outlander, Naisha wondered if this was how he felt, looking down on his people--the scale was impossible to grasp, from this distance. The flickering lights below meant nothing, and the diamond-shaped buildings may as well have been empty husks.

That same creeping sense of loneliness surrounded her again, but Naisha shook herself and strode toward the elevator with more purpose.

There was one last stop she had to make before she returned to Corellia.

 

* * *

 

Many years ago, Sethali remembered the most intensive levels of training she’d gone through before being assigned to Hutta as a minor agent for Imperial Intelligence, before she had ever been Cipher Nine: hazardous terrain.

There was no need to go off-world for that kind of training, because the jungles outside Kaas City presented their own challenges--torrential rainfall, lightning strikes powerful enough to kill and frequent enough to make their threat a serious one, rocky terrain with few vantage points for a marksman like her to take advantage of, and the aforementioned rain severely shortening her line of sight.

She hadn’t made it as an operative all these years by giving up easily, but her old training was taking its time to trickle back to her.

Laying flat on her stomach on a rocky outcrop with a slight incline, Sethali shoved a wet clump of dark hair off her forehead, attempting to tuck it behind her ear as she settled her right eye behind the scope of her rifle again. Acina paced anxiously below, a predator without direction. Sethali had to stop herself from looking at her out of the corner of her eye, just to make sure she was still waiting where Sethali had asked her to. Empresses didn’t take instruction well, most of the time, and Sith ones, even less.

Hampered by the rain, Sethali only saw so much through her scope, but the GenoHaradan camp below was clearly populated by a great deal of their mercenaries. When she’d still been in possession of the Black Codex, there had been some information on the GenoHaradan, but those facts, like so many other things, were slow to come back to her.

She  _ did _ remember, however, that they were a highly-reclusive group with a near-mythological status, and their presence here--hunting her as well as Acina--said that only someone important, someone  _ very _ important, could have put all of this together. It was a short list of suspects.

Shuffling backwards on her stomach, she slid down the rock outcrop to where Acina waited. “Well?” she demanded.

“The camp is still our best hope for shelter, or finding a way to contact my people.” Sethali glanced over her shoulder, at the camp beyond. “But it won’t be easy to take with just the two of us. If we play this incorrectly, we’ll bring all their reinforcements on our heads.”

Drenched in rainwater, Acina looked none too pleased, and this news only made her fiery eyes narrow with more displeasure. “What are our options?” she finally asked.

“The storm will cover whatever approach we make.” Sethali jerked her head towards the camp. “Especially because it’s getting worse. Not ideal fighting conditions, but it might hide us for long enough to get a few surprise attacks in before we’re discovered and it becomes an open fight.”

“Judging by your tone, you would rather it not come to an open fight.” despite herself, Acina sounded amused, and Sethali shrugged.

“I wasn’t trained for open fighting.” she pointed out. “I was trained for long-distance. I can fight up-close if I need to, but it isn’t my preferred method. The best way for us to take their camp is to split up. I’ll stay up here and pick off single targets at the edge of the camp. If we could split up the others inside and make them easier targets, that would be best.”

“No small task, but there are a few methods I have in mind.” Acina remarked. “Let’s begin, Commander.”

Hefting herself back up onto the rocky ledge, Sethali laid down her sniper rifle’s stand and let it balance more securely as Acina made a swift hand gesture and vanished from sight. Sethali’s apprehension skyrocketed, but she forced her breaths out evenly. Acina had every reason to help her get out, because it helped them both--neither of them profited if one of them died, not yet.

Focusing her attention through her scope again, Sethali chose her first target--a GenoHaradan assassin droid on patrol at the camp’s periphery. A single shot in the rainfall went unnoticed, and the droid fell without raising an alarm. Her second target, one of the mercenaries themselves, was talking to someone by holo, but from this distance Sethali couldn’t see who. If either Acina’s or her own comm signals weren’t being jammed, she could have asked Acina to find out what was being discussed, but if they had comm signals, they wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. He stepped clear of the holo, the call ended, and Sethali pulled the trigger a second time.

She had told Silas she suspected someone might try to sabotage this alliance, though. She had told him to keep an eye on things, and a crashed shuttle bearing the Alliance Commander as well as the Sith Empress would have been fast-traveling news. If he didn’t have a response in mind, Lana or Theron would, storm be damned, GenoHaradan be damned.

From her distant perch, Sethali downed a third target. It still felt futile.

Down below, it was difficult to tell what Acina was doing--not to mention, she was cloaked by the Force, a veil not even Sethali could pierce--but Sethali did notice a few more GenoHaradan seemingly wandering in senseless directions, into secluded areas where Sethali could more easily target them. She saw a flash of Acina’s purple lightsaber for a split second before it vanished--possibly a close call.

On a whim, Sethali tapped her ear-mounted scanner, sifting through its accumulated comm channels for anything that might not have been jammed, but she had no such luck. Slinging her rifle over her shoulder once more, Sethali slid down the rock outcrop and darted quickly across the jungle floor, headed for the center of the GenoHaradan camp.

It seemed the GenoHaradan had built their camp in the courtyard of some ancient Sith ruins--the stone under her boots was old and worn, cracked in some places, but marked with similar shapes as the stones inside the Dark Temple. Acina faded into view abruptly a few meters away, holding a datapad in one hand.

“I found this,” Acina said grimly, holding it out for Sethali’s inspection, “in one of the GenoHaradan tents. I think you’ll find it intriguing.”

Taking the datapad, Sethali saw it was open to a recent holocall--perhaps even the one she’d witnessed from her sniper’s perch--and she played it back.

When the image of the former Grand Chancellor of the Republic emerged, Sethali wanted to be surprised, but wasn’t--even before Saresh, the Chancellor had been rumored to have GenoHaradan connections; until recently, such connections would’ve been labeled complete nonsense at best, slander at worst. “It’s not enough to crash the shuttle,” Saresh was sternly telling the holocall’s recipient, “I want to see the bodies. No bodies, no bonus.”

“Saresh.” Sethali sighed tiredly. “I doubt she’s here herself--it’s likely she’s coordinating orders for the GenoHaradan through someone else here on the planet.”

“I fully intend to find out who.” Acina growled. “Just as soon as--”

The tiny radar on Sethali’s scanner warned her about the approaching mercenaries before she saw them with her own eyes, but as she reached for Acina, to yank them both into a more sheltered part of the ruins, one of the mercenaries straightened and pointed directly at them with a wordless shout. Sethali ducked from a blaster rifle’s incoming shot less than a second later, and Acina jerked around to face the camp’s remaining mercenaries, lightsaber flickering to life to deflect several blaster bolts as Sethali reached for her rifle, sliding behind a small niche in the stone walls.

Another sound, the sound of a speeder’s repulsorlift, caught Sethali’s attention next, and she whipped around the corner with her rifle, ignoring where blaster bolts spat against the stone, and searched for the airborne craft--if it held reinforcements, she wanted to neutralize them before hitting the ground.

The speeder angled sharply, and Sethali couldn’t see the pilot, but when it curved around in another arc that was unmistakably an attack pattern, she tightened her grip on her rifle--before realizing the attack pattern wasn’t directed at  _ them. _

A shape vaulted from the speeder and sent it careening into a line of the GenoHaradan mercenaries and assassination droids that had been about to open fire on them, landing behind an outcrop of stone before Sethali could determine who it was. When one of the mercenaries attempted to rise and an invisible force slammed him against the far wall, Sethali felt her heart rate skyrocket, and felt that same prickle in the back of her neck that said Valkorion was paying more attention.

From the rubble and ambient dust and scattered speeder parts, Vaylin emerged, and suspicion warred with relief in Sethali’s gut.

“What are you doing here?” Acina snapped, having none of Sethali’s reservations, and Vaylin didn’t flinch.

“There you are.” she said, planting fists upon hips. “Fancy meeting you out here.”

“Vaylin,” Sethali took a step forward, effectively taking charge of the conversation, “what are you doing here?”

She received only a shrug in response, and Sethali felt uncharacteristic irritation bubble up in her chest. “I got bored waiting.”

Valkorion’s presence grew overwhelming, and Sethali winced as his specter appeared, time freezing around them, displeasure all but radiating off him--Sethali didn’t need the Force to feel it. “My daughter is willful, stubborn, and without respect,” he told her, anger kept just barely in check, “yet you insist on bringing her to your Alliance, the site of a diplomatic mission for the good of the galaxy, and expect her to  _ obey.” _

“It was her choice to come.” Sethali raised her chin, prepared for the incoming verbal duel--she’d had plenty of them in her time housing Valkorion’s spirit, and doubted this would be the last one.

“It was foolish to give her that choice.” Valkorion admonished. “With her freedom, Vaylin would seize the Eternal Throne for herself, out of your hands--she cannot be trusted to support the goals of your Alliance while her ambition rages.”

“She has made no attempt to escape thus far,” Sethali pointed out, “and even now she could have found a way off-world. However she acquired that speeder, she could have used it to flee, and she didn’t.”

“Placing trust in a snake because it has not bitten you while it coils up to strike is just as unwise as letting it into your home because you think you can tame it.” Valkorion scowled. “If you insist on using her as a tool for your Alliance, you will need a way to leash her power.”

Sethali narrowed her eyes as a coil of unease began to tighten in her chest. “You mean I will need a way to  _ control _ her. That’s monstrous.”

“Vaylin’s power was too dangerous to allow further growth.” Valkorion began a slow pace nearby, and Sethali found herself watching for indicators he planned to attack her, even though he was beyond her ability to harm him. “She had to be....conditioned.”

Sethali’s mouth went dry and her heart stopped cold in her chest. “What did you just say?” Sethali’s voice was a mere whisper, her usual volume stolen by her shock. She didn’t need what she’d just heard to be repeated, but some part of her thought she  _ couldn’t _ have heard that word again, not here, not now.

“Speak the phrase ‘kneel before the dragon of Zakuul’,” Valkorion continued like she hadn’t spoken at all, jaw still agape with stunned disbelief, “and her will becomes bound by your commands, and mine.”

Sethali’s gaze darted over to Vaylin in case Valkorion saying the statement activated the conditioning right there, but she seemed unchanged. Warily, she turned back to Valkorion and spat, anger sitting like a bright, bitter spot in her chest, “I would  _ die  _ before inflicting that on another person.”

“This prideful display will earn you nothing but a swift death at Vaylin’s hands.” Valkorion scowled. “Consider the possibility.”

He vanished, and in the split second Sethali knew she had before he would be fully aware of her ideas again, one statement, not so much an idea as fact, took root.

_ I have to tell Vaylin without Valkorion knowing. _

 

* * *

 

The Commander was speaking to Father again. Vaylin could sense it. Something that threatened to be disappointment rose up like a wave to crash down on whatever small and feeble expectations she’d placed on the Alliance’s best hope, their precious  _ Outlander. _

Sethali didn’t look like she’d just been offered supreme power, though. No, Vaylin thought, regarding her with a narrow, pensive glare, she almost looked  _ gutted, _ as though every ounce of durasteel had been drained from her bones--Vaylin was reminded of their brief discussion on Odessen, where the lighting (it  _ had _ to be the lighting) had made Sethali look a hundred years older. She echoed that look now, and Vaylin’s eyes narrowed further, lip turning down in a scowl.

“Vaylin,” Sethali finally said, quietly, “I need--”

The whine of a shuttle’s engine engaging made all three jerk their heads around to where a ship prepared to fire its full arsenal of missiles into the courtyard.  _ Just _ to make things complicated. She supposed no rescue could be that easy.

“Into the temple!” Acina turned and took off first, but Sethali and Vaylin weren’t far behind. Blaster cannon bolts followed them all the way to the temple arch--Vaylin crushed the generator keeping the force-field in place just as the first of the missiles hit. Acina, safely within the temple by then, ducked as rubble fell from the archway, and Sethali jumped to the side as a piece of ancient stone fell where she’d been standing only a split second before. Vaylin ducked too late, and a piece of stone struck her ankle, knocking her off-balance.

A hand gripped hers, strong and warm, and yanked her out of the way just as the last of the archway fell, sealing the temple courtyard behind them. Vaylin’s ankle throbbed, and she staggered briefly into a rocky pillar, chipped and worn with age.

Slowly turning to where Vaylin knew Sethali would be standing, still holding onto the hand she’d used to pull her out of the way, she reined her breath in and wanted to yank her hand back, but didn’t, not yet.

“Are you hurt?” Sethali finally asked, her tone cautious.

Vaylin yanked her hand back and Sethali released it readily, but waited for a response. “No.” she finally snapped, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “Worry about yourself.”

Sethali turned and asked Acina, “Would you give me a moment, Acina?”

“Very well. I shall see what awaits us further inside.” Acina’s pursed lips said she wasn’t happy about leaving them, but Vaylin strongly doubted it was because the empress  _ cared-- _ if anything it was because she wanted to use Sethali’s resources.

When she was gone, Sethali folded her arms, and Vaylin met her gaze stonily. “How did you get here?” Sethali asked at last, low and serious. “More importantly, how did you know where to find us?”

“It was your Darth.” Vaylin waved a hand carelessly. “He was the one who recruited me for this half-brained rescue mission. That empress’ pet minister is in on this, too. Heard him talking to Saresh.”

Sethali nodded a few times, slowly. “I’m not surprised, but it’s good to know for certain.” shifting her weight to her other foot, she added, “And my advisors?”

“Got taken into that minister’s custody, pretty sure.” Vaylin shrugged, ignoring for the moment that Sethali hadn’t expressed disbelief at any of her explanation. “Dunno where they are now, though. Does it matter?”

“Not right now.” Sethali looked further into the temple, covered by overgrown vines and rain-fed greenery, water dripping from the ceilings and pillars. A drop landed on Sethali’s green-gold cheek, tinted pale by the dim lighting, and she swiped it away even as her hair continued to drip rainwater onto the collar of her armor. “Right now we need to get out of here.”

Her point was punctuated by the temple shaking, and a few fallen pieces of rubble from the collapsed archway shifted. They both turned to look at it, then Sethali asked one more time, “You’re sure you aren’t hurt? It looked like that rock hit you pretty hard.”

Vaylin’s ankle was really starting to hurt, but as she gave it a few experimental twists and turns, she determined it wasn’t broken or even sprained--bruised, more than most likely. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ll live.” her grin was empty, but she jerked her head towards the interior of the temple. “Shall we?”

Sethali drew her rifle and nodded once. Casting her gaze around the temple’s darkened corners and shifting shadows, Vaylin felt like she was being watched.

They caught up to Acina, and Sethali remarked, “It’s almost like the Dark Temple. It feels like the walls have eyes here.”

“Not many can claim to have entered the Dark Temple and emerged whole.” Acina replied with a raised brow. “Let us hope these ruins don’t carry the same influence.”

“It doesn’t feel exactly the same.” Sethali confirmed, and Vaylin frowned as she reached out with the Force all through the ruins, sensing its power and darkness. “But it’s still...unsettling.”

Inhabiting the tomb’s ancient halls, crumbling and decaying, were creatures that no one could recall a definitive name for besides ‘tomb horror’--Acina equated them to being similar to k’lor slugs, except these exploded into acid sprays after being killed. It didn’t take long for their strategy to change--Sethali was the only one of them capable of killing from a distance, barring either Acina or Vaylin using the Force to crush the creatures--so they slowly, carefully made their way through the halls at Sethali’s lead, waiting for her to clear an area, and for the ambient acid to clear from the air, before proceeding.

Vaylin was itching to be doing something--the walls here were almost worse than the ones back on the Citadel, because for all their intimidating stature and pristine nature, these walls were old and musty and she had already seen evidence of how easily they could crumble.

A trickle of someone’s voice emerged from farther around the corridor, and Vaylin held one arm out to bar their progress. Acina looked irritated, but Sethali asked calmly, “What is it, Vaylin?”

“Someone’s up there.” Vaylin’s lip twisted as she motioned towards the chamber beyond.

Acina closed her eyes briefly and confirmed, “I can hear something if I stretch my senses. I’m unable to confirm who it is.”

“Well, we’re going to find out here shortly.” Sethali checked her rifle and made a small adjustment on the scope, then led the way again. Vaylin followed, but found herself looking over her shoulder. The very shadows seemed to move before her, and she abruptly turned her gaze away, fixing her hood where it had shifted earlier.

“Don’t you know,” came the minister’s familiar, somewhat nasally voice, “that it’s quite rude to make me come out in this weather?  _ I _ said it would have been much easier to just bury you in this tomb.”

“Not an option.” a GenoHaradan mercenary stepped forward, effectively shadowing Lorman where he stood.

“I’m going to offer you  _ one _ chance to surrender.” Sethali called out, jaw tight, hands gripping her rifle in a relaxed but ready position.

The GenoHaradan mercenaries’ leader--Vaylin assumed he was the leader, by the unnecessarily-ornate armor--snorted. “That’s not an option, either.” he told her. “Saresh wants to see the bodies. No bodies, no bonus.”

Vaylin’s hands clenched into fists and she felt the temple respond to her power--dust fell from the ceiling as the stone shifted minutely, but Sethali didn’t flinch as she raised her rifle, and chaos broke loose. GenoHaradan mercenaries fired rockets that erupted into flame as soon as they touched their target, and Acina vanished into thin air with a single hand gesture that Vaylin recognized--she could cloak herself with the Force, but Vaylin could still sense her.

She found herself face-to-face with one of the mercenaries, but before she could respond, a single blaster shot felled him, revealing Sethali with her rifle still raised. Vaylin darted out of the way as another rocket landed, spraying flame across the stony floor before it was promptly put out by the dripping rainwater from the roof.

“Vaylin!” she jerked her head around at Sethali’s call, and the commander made a gesture with two fingers over her eyes, before pointing at something across the room. Vaylin followed the obvious request of  _ look here, _ and saw a stone pillar, crumbling and far more fragile than the rest. It wasn’t a major one, not one of the load-bearing pillars, probably, but she wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to gain her.

Looking back at Sethali, she made another motion with her rifle, pointing it towards the pillar, then she pointed at Vaylin, then at the mercenary captain, who Acina was in the midst of engaging.

Vaylin got it all at once _ \--I’ll weaken that pillar, you pull it down. _

“Ready?” Sethali asked, seemingly satisfied Vaylin understood, and Vaylin nodded tensely, bracing her feet on the ground as Sethali let loose a volley of blaster bolts from her sniper rifle; they spattered off the stone and sent pieces of it hurtling into all corners of the temple chamber. Lorman cursed from one corner of the room--Vaylin took some kind of satisfaction that he’d been struck by a piece, even if it was harmless in the grand scheme of things.

Reaching up towards the pillar with both hands, Vaylin’s fingers trembled, teeming with power, and she began to pull it down, with as much strength as she could muster. At first it seemed pointless, but Sethali raised her rifle again and fired another series of shots at the top of the pillar, where it crumbled the most.

It fell without further difficulties, then, and Acina slid gracefully out of the way as it landed heavily on the floor--the room shook with its impact and took several moments to settle. Silence rested heavily around them, and Vaylin found Sethali approaching Lorman, her rifle slung across her shoulder and her blaster pistol out instead.

“Wait--you need me alive!” Lorman backed slowly away from Sethali and stopped in the center of the room. “I have your friends captive. Kill me, and they die.”

Pulling a portable holocom device from his belt, Lorman dropped it and let it hover a meter above the ground. An Imperial soldier’s image solidified from it. “Minister, sir--” he began, before an invisible force choked off his words, and he fell.

He was replaced by Lana, who looked, Vaylin thought,  _ quite _ pleased with herself. “Oh, hello, Lorman.” she said amicably.

“Frankly, I expected more.” came Theron’s distant voice on the other end of the link.

“It’s good to see you’re safe.” the relief in Sethali’s voice was evident, and Vaylin folded her arms. “But we have bigger problems. Saresh had a hand in this, too.”

“I know.” Lana said grimly. “Saresh is on her way to Odessen now. She intends to seize the Alliance. And...we managed to lose Vaylin, Commander. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” Sethali seemed amused more than anything, despite the day’s events. “Vaylin’s here with us. We’ll be on our way shortly--I doubt we can beat Saresh there, but we have to stop her before she convinces the rest of the Alliance I really  _ am _ dead.”

“We’ll get ready to depart as soon as you’re back at the Citadel.” Lana replied. “See you soon.”

As the holocall ended, Acina turned to Lorman, who’d apparently been frozen in place. “Commander, you were my guest today. I place Lorman’s fate in your hands.”

Sethali folded her arms and Vaylin watched curiously. What Sethali said wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, but it wasn’t exactly surprising either. “Take him into custody. I’ll want to question him for other possible collaborators.”

“Very well.” Acina maintained her invisible hold on the minister as they left the temple, headed for a shuttle docked in another open courtyard. “I’ll have him transferred to Alliance custody so you may begin your interrogation at your leisure.”

Vaylin watched Sethali’s lip twist at the mention of interrogation, but didn’t call attention to it even as her curiosity grew. For someone under Valkorion’s control, she certainly didn’t have his stomach when it came to such things.

“So,” Vaylin remarked as they boarded the shuttle Lorman had flown here, “today’s been exciting.”

“I could do without some excitement for once, truth be told.” Sethali joked. “It’s not over yet, either. Saresh is still on her way to Odessen, and we’re going to stop her.”

There was an edge in Sethali’s posture that hadn’t been there earlier in the temple, and Vaylin had a feeling Sethali was right--the excitement wasn’t even  _ close _ to being over.

 

* * *

 

Odessen might never feel like home to Sethali--barring the fact she hadn’t had a place she felt at home in since her adolescence on Nar Shaddaa--but the Alliance was unmistakably hers. They were her people to protect and guide, her people to lead, even if the burden of that leadership sometimes felt undeserved.

Sitting in the pilot’s chair as their shuttle emerged from hyperspace, Sethali felt the air shift at her back and turned her head briefly as Lana came to stand behind her seat. “Commander,” she ventured, “now may not be the best time to discuss it, but I have concerns about Vaylin’s escape from the Citadel.”

“If she hadn’t been there,” Sethali said calmly, leaning over to press a few buttons on the opposite panel, “there is a good chance neither Acina nor myself would have returned in one piece.”

“It’s your decision, Commander,” Lana said quietly, “but I would be remiss in my duties as an advisor if I didn’t advise you.”

“Noted. Thank you, Lana.” Sethali pressed one final control to land her shuttle on one of the pads outside, since the main hangar seemed to be occupied by a thick crowd of the Alliance’s forces.

Speaking of, Sethali glanced over at the farthest corner of the shuttle, where Vaylin had sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, a physical representation of keeping herself shielded from them. It had been hours since they’d left Dromund Kaas, and while Sethali hadn’t moved from the pilot’s seat in that time, even that would’ve been more comfortable.

She rose as the shuttle’s side door opened, and met Sethali’s eyes. “What?” she asked, but there wasn’t as much edge to it as usual. Perhaps she was tired, as Sethali was, as all of them were.

Sethali shook her head at last. “Nothing.”

Leading the way back into Odessen’s main base, Sethali’s strides were quick and clipped--Lana and Theron broke away from her at the wide entrance to Odessen’s biggest hangar, splitting up to take the platform from either side.

Saresh had just walked up to the podium, placed her hand on the intercom button, and began her speech--most of the Alliance listened, and Sethali waited as well; part of her was curious what Saresh had to say.

“Members of the Alliance,” Saresh said, a hastily-constructed expression of sorrow on her face, “as many of you have heard by now, your Commander, Sethali Kuda, is dead.”

Murmuring rose up from the crowd, concerned and even panicked. Vaylin, hovering by Sethali’s shoulder, snickered under her breath.

“There are dark times ahead,” Saresh continued, and Sethali pushed herself off the wall, parting the crowd and garnering shocked glances and exclamations where she passed, “but fear not--I have come to offer you a beacon!”

Saresh stopped, then, and her confident expression didn’t so much slip as fall directly away, leaving only shock and panic. Sethali’s brows arched sharply with fury, and she felt her fists clench tightly at her sides. By then Lana and Theron had cut off both sides of the platform, and the crowd parted to let Sethali through--Vaylin followed, though she could have distanced herself from this mess.

“I take it you know everything, then.” Saresh begrudgingly folded her arms and looked Sethali in the eye.

“Of course I do.” Sethali’s scowl intensified as she copied Saresh’s posture.  _ “Why, _ Saresh?”

“You aren’t fit to lead this Alliance.” Saresh snapped. “It needs a true leader, someone who’s willing to do what needs to be done. I won’t apologize for it.”

“It is  _ far _ too late for apologies.” Lana retorted. “Commander? What do you want to do?”

There was a brief standoff where Sethali searched Saresh’s face and found only obstinate certainty--not a hint of fear or remorse. She could admire that, to a degree. “Take her into custody.” she finally said, and Saresh’s certainty faltered, replaced by surprise. “She and Lorman may have had other collaborators, and I’ll want to find out who.”

“I think Acina’s waiting on the holo, Commander.” Theron interjected. “We’ll take care of Saresh for now if you want to take her call.”

In fact, Sethali wanted nothing  _ less _ than to take Acina’s call, because she knew exactly what her decision was going to be. The Empire that Sethali left behind had changed only as far as the person who ruled it--and she trusted Acina about as much as she’d once trusted the Dark Council, a select few members excluded.

“I’ll take her call.” Sethali replied tiredly. “Then I think I’ll be done for today.”

All throughout her trip to Dromund Kaas, being pursued by GenoHaradan, and having Vaylin arrive unexpectedly to rescue them, Sethali’s headaches had cooperated, and she attributed that largely to Natalle’s treatment of her last one, but its telltale throb began in her temple again as she approached the war room’s main holoterminal.

“Commander,” Acina picked up immediately as Sethali linked her hands behind her back, “despite everything that happened on Dromund Kaas, I am still interested in allying my people with yours.”

Sethali closed her eyes as her headache intensified, and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Acina,” she said, “but the Empire I left behind isn’t a construct I’d entrust the fate of the galaxy to, and to the best of my observations, as well as the observations of my people, little has changed in my absence except the one who holds the power.”

“Commander, I--” it was hard to tell over holo, but Acina looked somewhat flushed, and Sethali cut across whatever protest she’d been about to make.

“I know about Darth Imperius.” Sethali said coldly. “I don’t know what happened to her, but I know that you were in contact with her, and that she wasn’t on Dromund Kaas, which has its own implications. Again, Acina, I’m sorry, but quite frankly, I can’t trust  _ you, _ either.”

Chilly silence settled over the war room, and Acina finally said icily, “I won’t forget this, Commander.”

Before she could reply, the channel cut out, and Sethali rested both hands on the table’s edge, gripping tightly enough to turn her knuckles pale. “Commander...?” Theron spoke up, and as she turned to face him, she saw expressions of shock on all their faces, except Vaylin, who appeared carefully neutral.

“I have another call to make.” Sethali told them curtly, already leaving the war room’s main table to head for her quarters. “I’m not to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency. Everyone, get some rest and some sleep. We’ll resume operations in the morning.”

And, before anyone could ask any further questions, Sethali’s pace took her around the corner, and out of earshot. Her quarters looked just as she’d left them, but in a habit older than her time as Alliance Commander, she found herself checking for hidden listening devices, finding none.

After verifying the security seals were active, Sethali sent a signal to Silas’ line, and he answered after only a few rings. “News is already spreading across Kaas City.” he greeted her. “I take it Acina didn’t receive your decision well.”

“She did not.” Sethali said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m taking you up on your offer, Silas. I’ll speak with my other resident Dark Lords and see how they feel about drumming up extra support.”

“I can begin spreading word in the right circles, as well, if that would be beneficial.” Silas pointed out.

“Yes. Do that. Thank you.” Sethali rubbed her face in one hand. “Keep me apprised of matters.”

“Of course. I’ll speak with you again soon, Commander.” Silas nodded once, then the call disconnected, leaving Sethali alone with her thoughts and the empty shadows of her room. Even Valkorion seemed more distant than usual.

Setting her rifle on its usual place atop her table, Sethali dropped her long, dark gray jacket over her desk chair, rummaging through one of the desk drawers until she found what she was looking for--a bottle that she’d had for months, and hadn’t yet had the chance, or cause, to crack it open.

It had been a gift from Lord Castor shortly after she’d first joined the Alliance--imported Alderaanian liquor that Lord Castor had sworn up and down had a significant kick to it, despite its sweet flavor and unassuming appearance.

She had no glasses in here, but swallowed her first drink of the stuff easily--before Darth Marr’s flagship, before losing five years of her life, Sethali had been well on track to breaking her drinking habits, but they’d returned with a vengeance after the battle for Asylum, months ago now. She wasn’t helping things by continuing to feed the habit, but this was something she doubted even Natalle or Kahla could cure.

_ You aren’t fit to lead this Alliance. _

Her second drink went down as easily as the first. Her datapad beeped, and she reached over to shut it off, capping the bottle and putting it away.

Without leads or information or even a goal to accomplish at the moment, Sethali was left at odds, and she picked up her personal datapad, still open to her notes on Odessen’s flora from the brief expedition recently. Perhaps she’d venture out again tomorrow and take more readings for Oggurobb.

It was difficult to say what would happen to them without the support of either major faction, especially after incurring Acina’s wrath, but she’d be damned if she gave up now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LAST, after two months, I manage to cough up another chapter--a lot of things got in the way of this chapter getting done these past few months, but I greatly appreciate all of you who've stuck around waiting. You're gems. <3

Three days after their return to Odessen from the rather... _ eventful _ trip to Dromund Kaas, and Vaylin was ready to climb the walls with boredom.

Most of the base tended to avoid her, and Vaylin had no desire to be gawked at by those brave few who would, so she remained in the room that had been designated as hers for the time being, even if it really belonged to Lord Castor. Sethali seemed to be doing her best to give Vaylin her space, and Vaylin didn’t even know where to begin searching for the Alliance commander, not that she had any particular reason to. Perhaps it was simply another gauge of how bored she was--for better or worse, being in the commander’s close proximity  _ did _ make Vaylin’s life more interesting.

She did wonder, though, if Father had something to do with it. He did always like meddling in places he didn’t belong. She wouldn’t put it past him to be attempting to dissuade Sethali from approaching her. Not that the stubborn commander had ever really seemed all that interested in Father’s advice before, but there  _ was _ a first time for everything.

Absently, Vaylin carded her hands through her damp hair, still fragrant from a recent wash. Clothed in a simple tunic and pants, her gaze found the holocamera from Sethali’s brief expedition into the Odessen wilds over a week ago, and she reached for it; the device floated carefully through the air into her hands, and she flicked the switch to power it on.

It showed the single image she’d taken with it, of that valley in the wilds, and Vaylin scowled, setting the camera down on the floor and pulling her knees up to her chest.

It seemed, in that moment, unbearably lonely.

Throwing herself backwards onto the hard, lumpy bed with a noise of vague frustration, Vaylin curled to face the wall, but its featureless face left her nothing to focus on but her own thoughts. Which, annoyingly enough, seemed to revolve around the faint cloak of solitude that had hovered around her shoulders ever since she’d first set foot on Odessen.

On Zakuul, she was surrounded by people, but they meant little to her personally. Nameless faces patrolling the halls, who would’ve obeyed her orders in an instant if she had demanded it, pawns in a grand game. On Odessen, she was surrounded by people, as well, but none of them cared about her. Even the people she’d  _ thought _ cared about her had left. Some of them many years ago, some of them recently.

Thinking about Arcann made her angry and sad all at once, and a bitter knot of betrayal sat in her chest. He’d left her to deal with the Alliance alone, and here, she had no one.

Rolling over, Vaylin snatched the holocamera up from where it sat on the floor, but didn’t switch it off just yet. Setting it carefully down on the desk, she reached for her robes, still draped over a nearby chair from when she’d washed her hair earlier. Part of her wanted something different, something that didn’t remind her how much of an outsider she was here, but another part of her loathed to give up the hood that shielded her from the Alliance’s prying eyes.

She slipped the hood on, prepared to leave, though she didn’t know yet where she would go, where she even  _ wanted _ to go, where she even  _ could _ go. With the door open, one hand on the control, Vaylin glanced back at the holocamera, still sitting powered on to the image of Odessen’s valley.

“It’s a lovely shot.”

Vaylin’s hand tensed on the doorframe and she whipped her head around to lock eyes with the middle-aged togruta Sith, the one from Voss.

“You should take more.” Kahla continued as though Vaylin had replied, her smile earnest, but tired. “Not everyone can get quality images out of a standard-issue holocamera.”

“What are you doing here?” Vaylin recovered enough of her wits to demand.

Kahla’s expression was wry. “I’m avoiding Natalle’s hovering, if I’m being completely honest. I’m not supposed to be out of the infirmary yet, and if I go to the war room I’ll run into either Sethali or Lana. Both of them would undoubtedly return me to Natalle’s custody.”

“If she blames me for breaking you out--” Vaylin warned.

Kahla waved her hand, and shifted her lekku absentmindedly. “She won’t. Natalle is well aware I’m getting tired of her pretending like she isn’t hovering even when it’s perfectly clear that she is. I swear she’d take a lightsaber to the gut before admitting she was actually  _ worried _ about me.” The statement was dry, and not hurt; if anything, Vaylin thought, Kahla looked serene, peaceful, everything their studies of the Sith code told her Kahla shouldn’t be.

“Then what are you doing  _ here?” _ Vaylin gestured to her--albeit small and unimpressive--corner of Odessen’s base, planting fists upon hips.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t actively seeking you out,” Kahla confessed, “I was just passing by when I saw the picture you took--I assume you took it, at least, and I wasn’t lying; it really is a lovely shot--and I wanted to tell you: I’m glad you’re here.”

It caught her more off-guard than she wanted to admit. “Suppose you’re the only one, then.” Vaylin muttered under her breath.

“I wouldn’t be too certain of that.” something in Kahla’s face softened. “I can’t imagine the adjustment you must be trying to go through, Vaylin, but it matters that you’re here, with the Alliance, and I’m glad for it.”

Silence fell for a beat--though what Vaylin intended to reply with, she hadn’t the foggiest--when a furious exclamation of  _ “Kahla Vys!” _ came from around the corner, followed shortly after by an incensed Natalle, robes fluttering behind her, eye mask askew, and choppy ginger bob even more unkempt than usual. “I  _ thought _ I’d confined you to the infirmary until I could clear you for light work again.”

“Contrary to what you might believe, Natalle,” Kahla planted one hand on her hip and turned to face her cohort, whose hands were clenched into fists at her side,  _ “I _ was made a healer of this Alliance for a reason, too--I know when I’m healthy enough to take exercise.”

“Just because I’m nearly young enough to be your daughter doesn’t mean that I won’t exercise  _ my _ authority and--” Natalle cut herself off, and abruptly all the color drained from her face. Vaylin narrowed her eyes. “Kahla, I’m sorry, that was thoughtless--”

“It’s fine.” Kahla waved a hand dismissively, but her tone was more subdued than it had been only a few moments ago. Vaylin’s thoughtful frown became a scowl. “I think I need to sit down anyway. I’ll be back in the infirmary in a few moments.”

Natalle still stood frozen, and she hesitantly said, “Kahla...”

“Nat,” Kahla replied with mild exasperation, “it’s fine. Go. I’ll be there soon.”

When Natalle had exchanged a final look between Kahla and Vaylin, she turned and departed as abruptly as she’d arrived, leaving an awkward silence where there had been a tentative tranquility a few minutes ago.

“Well,” Kahla said dryly, perhaps in an attempt to recover some of her usual humor, “leave it to Natalle herself to be the one who found me out. I meant what I said, though, Vaylin--I’m glad to see you. And you should take a walk.” Kahla gestured to the corridor beyond, which led to Odessen base proper and the walkways to the wilds. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

Kahla shuffled carefully back down the hallway, loose-fitting robes swishing lightly around her ankles as she vanished around the corner. It left Vaylin with more questions than answers, especially about Kahla, but she was determined not to be curious. She didn’t care. She had no reason to.

Slowly, Vaylin reached back and the holocamera hovered gracefully over to her waiting hand. She switched it off and attached it to her belt. It couldn’t hurt to at least take it with her.

The only way Vaylin knew of to reach Odessen’s wilds was the lift at the edge of Odessen’s main base, and she took it now, still unsure of what exactly she hoped to accomplish by coming out here. She would still be just as bored as she had been for the past three days, only this time outside instead of inside.

Just off the main base, there were a few crates containing survival supplies, likely intended for the longer-term expeditions, and Vaylin bypassed them. She wasn’t planning on being out here long, but thus far she hadn’t been given anything better to do. She hated feeling idle anywhere, but here, with the Alliance, there was the added stress of simply not being  _ trusted _ enough to be given anything to do.

Following the worn footpath, Vaylin heard rustling and froze, expecting to find a stray shade stalker or other predator.

What she found instead was the Alliance commander, her hands wrist-deep in the dirt.

Vaylin hadn’t seen Sethali hardly at all in the past few days, and the few, fleeting times she’d had a sighting, it had been only as Sethali was departing to go somewhere else--she hadn’t been stationary like she was now. Not that Vaylin particularly cared what the commander did in her spare time.

Her brunette hair, instead of being tied in its usual functional ponytail, was knotted messily into a sloppy bun at the base of her neck, the hair there darkened with sweat. The holographic scanner that normally sat over Sethali’s right eye was conspicuously absent, showing for the first time the full breadth of the scarring on the right side of her face--possibly burns, possibly shrapnel, possibly both. Her dark gray jacket--serving both formal and functional purposes--was also absent, likely because it hadn’t been made for working in the dirt; there were mud splatters on the hem of the simple shirt she wore instead.

“Hello, Vaylin.” Sethali said cordially, suddenly, and Vaylin blinked as she realized the commander had caught her staring. “I see you’re enjoying the nice day. Though I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“I enjoy sunlight, believe it or not.” was the first thing out of Vaylin’s mouth, though she wanted to snatch it back from the air. It had been a stupid thing to say, unnecessary.

It got a faint grin out of Sethali, though, and some of the tension between them lessened. Vaylin still didn’t close any distance between them, and Sethali didn’t urge her to. “Usually the weather is nice this time of year, from what we can tell, but even if it wasn’t particularly nice, I think I’d still be out here. I just enjoy the quiet.”

“And digging around in the dirt, apparently.” Vaylin folded her arms, but a smirk hovered over her lips.

Sethali brushed her hands together a few times, divesting them of dirt clumps and mud, before shifting her weight back onto her heels, hands resting on her thighs. “It’s better than sitting in my room alone, staring at reports about things I can’t change right now.”

There was something simultaneously comforting and bizarre about Sethali being stuck in the same habits as Vaylin while on Odessen, but she shelved that thought for later. “I did assume you were busy with something.” Vaylin shifted her weight, and the smirk dropped from her face. “Hardly seen you around at all.”

Sethali’s grin grew a fraction, and she teased, “Were you looking?”

“No.” Vaylin snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

The grin faded from Sethali’s face, and she scratched a few lines in the dirt, breaking eye contact. “There’s good days and bad ones in mostly equal measure, right now. The past few have been bad, that’s all.”

It was such an unexpectedly frank admission that Vaylin didn’t know how to process it for a moment. “You have healers.” she finally said, flatly.

Sethali shook her head slowly. “Natalle is busy enough. I don’t need to be bothering her every other day while Kahla is still recovering.”

“So you’re digging around in the dirt instead?” Vaylin raised a brow.

“Something to that effect, yes.” Sethali’s grin was back, but still small, and there was an undercurrent of deep-rooted exhaustion in her posture. “How are you? I know you likely haven’t had much to do lately, and I apologize.”

“Don’t tell me you were worried.” Vaylin replied, only half-joking.

“I worry about everyone. It’s my job.” Sethali replied, but Vaylin got the sense she was being fully serious, despite her lighthearted inflection. “That includes you.”

Despite the poorly-concealed shadows under Sethali’s eyes and the weary, slouched posture she adopted kneeling in the dirt, the line of concern in her brows was genuine, and Vaylin tightened her arms where they were folded across her chest. It didn’t seem fair that Sethali could appear so sincerely concerned, so open and honest about what she did and how she felt, while housing Father’s spirit in her skull. It didn’t seem fair that, for all Sethali appeared to care, it was likely all a manipulative act.

“Vaylin?” Sethali prompted, and the line of concern in her brow deepened when Vaylin looked up, curling her lip in a filthy scowl. “What is it?”

“I don’t understand.” Vaylin snapped finally, hunched over, arms folded tightly over her stomach. “You’re not Father, but I know he’s in there somewhere.”

Sethali’s lips turned into a tense line, and she broke eye contact briefly to stretch her legs, crossing them underneath her before she looked up at Vaylin again. Her expression was unchanged. “Make no mistake, Vaylin--I hate Valkorion, and I don’t make a habit of hating anyone often. I hate him, and I hate knowing he’s here, and that him being in my head possibly endangers my people because even the Sith I’m allied with don’t fully understand what his presence means.” Sethali paused, and dug her hands into the earth again. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but I lied, on Voss.”

“About what?” Vaylin asked sullenly.

“You accused me of being a pawn of your father’s, and I told you that no one controls me.” Sethali’s ruby-red eyes had never seemed menacing to Vaylin before, and they still didn’t, even now, but there  _ was _ an intensity to them that was normally absent. “But even if I spit in his face every time he tells me to do something, he  _ does _ control me, in other ways--he gives me nightmares, makes my headaches worse, makes my hands shake on bad days. It’s not direct control, but it weakens me, and it makes me irritable, and paranoid, and it makes me doubt what I do.” Sethali’s hands relented their grip on the dirt she’d been burying her fingers into, and she brushed them off on the hem of her muddy shirt again. “I can’t even imagine what he must have put you through, growing up.”

“No.” Vaylin replied shortly, feeling like she’d just been gutted, and hating that the Commander had provoked that kind of reaction from her. “You can’t.”

A brittle, fragile silence fell, the uncertain kind that Vaylin couldn’t stand for long. It reminded her too much of a cold, empty throne room, and the endless, lonely expanse of space just beyond. She’d felt vulnerable in some way every day since arriving on Odessen, but never as raw as she felt now.

“I apologize, Vaylin.” Sethali’s voice returned to its usual quiet cadence, like nothing out of the ordinary had just been discussed. “I didn’t mean to unload all of that onto you, or bring up any unwanted memories. It was unfair to you.”

Even if Father  _ was _ controlling her, no amount of subtle manipulation could produce these results--for however much Vaylin did not trust Sethali, or the Alliance she commanded, Father wasn’t making her be this  _ nice _ , almost annoyingly so. And he  _ definitely _ would not have been concerned for others above himself. She had seen ample proof of that.

_ When was the last time someone considered what was fair to her? _

She didn’t  _ stumble _ , she told herself as she put a few rapid steps of necessary distance between herself and Sethali, but it was a near thing, and she finally crossed her arms again before uncrossing them immediately after and adjusting her hood. “I’m leaving.” she finally muttered as she turned on her heel, head whirling with confusion and anger and something in the eye of that storm of emotion that wanted to be hope.

But  _ hope _ had only ever been a disappointment, and it would be foolish to place her trust in it now.

 

* * *

 

Zakuul’s Old World was, in many ways, a less intense version of Breaktown, but Ismali had come to learn it was not without its share of dangers.

While the Heralds were undoubtedly the most persistent enemies they faced on a regular basis, Ismali and Yulishin had identified a handful of other individuals that amassed followers based purely around the fact rebellion was taboo, and in a perfect world, there was  _ everything _ to rebel against just for the sake of it.

One of those malcontents--Firebrand, the locals called her--had vanished of late, but that was a small comfort. Where one fled, another always took their place eventually. Standing in front of the stand Mona Gale used to occupy cemented that fact quite clearly.

“Was Mona the only one you knew who could find the Lady?” Yulishin asked--the lower half of her face was hidden by the masks both Jedi tended to adopt when traveling in the Old World, but Ismali didn’t need to see Yulishin’s face to note the narrow, annoyed slant of her bright red eyes.

“Yes.” Ismali sighed and tapped her foot against the ground. “This will set us back considerably.”

“Can I ask what you planned to do when we found her?” Yulishin’s arched brow was not reassuring, but Ismali calmed whatever irritation threatened to rise. “The Lady isn’t exactly known for being forthcoming.”

“You heard the Exarch in her holo.” Ismali reminded Yulishin as they walked through the small market area just beyond the pit fights. “Tell me--what was different about her, versus the former emperor?”

Yulishin’s scowl deepened. “Ismali--”

“She repeatedly mentioned Zakuul’s people.” Ismali finished before Yulishin could doubtless scold her for trying to turn something this important into a  _ lesson _ . Some habits couldn’t be broken. “She may intend to stand against the Alliance, but for different reasons. I’d intended to fulfill my deal with the Lady by gaining more information on the Exarch, perhaps something that might suggest she could be reasoned with.”

Yulishin stared. “You want to attempt  _ bargaining _ with this Exarch Vyrint?”

“I believe bargaining may now be a valid option, and I’d like to explore the possibility further.” Ismali countered calmly. “That’s all.”

“The Exarch may care about Zakuul’s people, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be willing to deal with us.” Yulishin retorted flatly. “She hasn’t exactly offered any more favorable terms to either the Republic  _ or _ the Empire than Arcann did.”

“Which is why I intend to find out more about her.” Ismali grinned slightly. “If nothing else, it gets us out of Breaktown.”

Yulishin snorted slightly as she followed Ismali onto the nearest lift. “That’s the most sensible part of this plan I’ve heard yet.”

 

* * *

 

Yevari’s bridge had never been so quiet.

Typically her officers chattered amongst themselves about matters both official and unofficial, which she took no issue with as long as they were doing their jobs. Tonight, there was silence, and Yevari found it unsettling.

All of her crew had been warned about the danger the Silencers posed now, at her own request--they had a right to know what they were getting into. After firing it at the Imperial fleet, there had been a hush on the bridge that not even her most talkative officers had dared to break.

They had only borrowed time before Acina either sent more ships after them or the Eternal Fleet’s patrols discovered her ships hiding just outside the Belsavis system, but without a functioning hyperdrive, and being short one ship, Yevari didn’t particularly have many options. Being backed into a corner was only an easy situation to get out of if you could simply leap over your assailants’ heads, and while Yevari herself would’ve been  _ more _ than capable of such a feat, her fleet was not.

So, she waited.

A faint  _ clunk-hiss _ announced the arrival of the bridge elevator, and Yevari turned with a sigh, expecting to see Ashara come to tell her that hovering over her people would accomplish nothing but continuing to stress her out.

It was Cassaire. Yevari warred between guilt and wariness for a split second, and wariness won. “Cass.” Yevari ventured. “What can I do for you?”

“I was about to ask the same thing.” Cassaire replied with a dry grin.

They stood at the bridge’s front viewport for several seconds before Yevari sighed and ran one hand’s fingers through her hair. “Cass,” Yevari began hesitantly, “I’m sorry for...well. You know.”

“I think I do,” Cassaire said stiffly, “but I’d like to think your pride isn’t so wounded you couldn’t just say it.”

It annoyed Yevari more than she cared to admit, and it stung, but she knew Cassaire was right. She shifted her feet awkwardly in place. “I’m sorry I hurt you by assuming you had something to do with Acina’s attack, Cass.” Yevari paused. “You...haven’t mentioned anything about what happened with the Wrath’s Hand fled--”

“It doesn’t matter.” Cassaire cut her off, her blank face betraying nothing. “You wanted to hear about what’s been happening for the past year or so, and I came to do that while things are relatively quiet.”

Yevari linked her hands behind her back. “Tell me.”

Cassaire’s abridged report on what had transpired since Yevari and her fleet had left Imperial space was, if nothing else, an adventurous tale. When Cassaire eventually wound down to the events that led them to Voss, and then to the  _ Doombringer _ , silence sat for a few moments while Yevari processed it.

“So,” Yevari finally mused, half to herself, “that puts Acina’s proposal into slightly more context. If the fate of the Eternal Empire is uncertain, she would want allies in preparation for helping the Alliance topple it. Acina’s a lot of things, but she’s no fool, I’ll give her that.”

“She would’ve wanted your word that her intentions were genuine.” Cassaire’s lip twisted. “Though where she got the idea you would agree to such a thing is beyond me.”

“That’s what the fleet was for.” Yevari joked. “I think she assumed I’d surrender. Unfortunately, a year on the run has done nothing to lessen how much I’m motivated by spite. If anything, it’s intensified.”

Cassaire rolled her eyes, but she was grinning, and things were lighter between them than they had been in days. “Some things never change with you, Yev.”

“My lord,” Moff Pyron approached, and he looked hesitant. Yevari scowled, preemptively preparing for the bad news he was about to deliver. “The  _ Adasta Talon _ returned from its scouting run. It forwarded footage you’ll want to see.”

“Get Captain Vergent on the holo.” Yevari ordered briskly. “I’ll want to hear her report as well.”

In short order, after Zoai had been summoned from the infirmary, and Captain Vergent joined them by holo from the  _ Talon _ , Yevari nodded at Pyron, who summoned the footage Vergent had forwarded upon her ship’s return.

“My lord,” Captain Vergent lowered her head slightly in lieu of a bow, and continued, “we caught something of a lucky break on our scouting run--no sign of other Imperial ships or the Eternal Fleet.”

“It won’t last.” Yevari muttered. “We’ll be cornered eventually. What else did you find?”

“If you’ll skip ahead to just after the first hour of our observation...?” Captain Vergent watched as the holo skipped ahead to the point she suggested, then said, “There.”

Yevari leaned on her holoterminal and squinted at the footage. The  _ Talon _ ’s starboard cameras picked up the planet Belsavis, far in the distance, the Star Fortress orbiting it, and...

“That’s my ship!” Yevari burst out suddenly, both in outrage and shock. “That’s the  _ Shadow! _ ”

Zooming in just to be sure, Yevari confirmed that the lone vessel docked by the Belsavis Star Fortress  _ was _ , in fact, her missing ship, the  _ Celestial Shadow _ . “It must have gotten caught during its own scouting run, and trapped by the Star Fortress’ tractor beam.” Captain Vergent continued. “We can only assume the crew has been apprehended and the databanks sliced.”

Yevari clenched her jaw until it hurt. “I want that ship back. Having it be in enemy hands as long as it has is bad enough.”

“I’d like to point out that even  _ if _ we get the hyperdrive repaired right this very second,” Zoai spoke up, “we wouldn’t last five minutes without extra supplies.”

“Why not board the Star Fortress?” Cassaire suggested after a beat of silence. “We could disable the tractor beam directly.”

“None of us know anything about how Star Fortresses are structured. We’d waste time getting lost, and that’s time we wouldn’t be able to spare.” Yevari pointed out.

Zoai looked thoughtful. “You know, an old friend from my Republic privateer days mentioned she and another friend of hers might be going to Zakuul to see what kind of good they could do there--and I can’t imagine those schematics would be stored anywhere else. If they’re still on-world, they might be able to give us a better picture of what’s happening before we send anyone. Think I still have her encryption frequency in my room.”

“Fetch it and we’ll call her here.” Yevari ordered. “Quickly, if at all possible. Cass, you might also see if our resident former emperor has a more specific idea of where we might start looking”

Zoai snorted as she turned on her heel and half-jogged back down the bridge corridor, and Cassaire followed after a beat of silence, leaving Yevari in sullen silence, watching the holographic projection of Belsavis’ Star Fortress--and Yevari’s missing ship docked outside it--rotate slowly on its axis.

She’d done her best to stay out of the galactic stage for over a year now. It seemed even that would have to come to an end.

Yevari grinned slightly at one corner of her mouth as she zoomed in on the frozen image of the Star Fortress, and her ship, held by its tractor beam. “Bring it on.”

Zoai returned after a few minutes, her personal holocom in one hand. “Got the code. No one’s answering, though.”

Yevari frowned. “Put the code through this terminal. I don’t like sending signals from my ship directly, but we may not have a choice.”

The elevator doors parted again, this time with Cassaire, Arcann, and Iona. Iona rarely set foot on the bridge unless it was an absolute necessity, but the tension in her brow said she was just as worried about the future of this ship as everyone else on this bridge.

There was a brief crackle of static, muffled cursing as Zoai attempted to reconfigure Yevari’s communications terminal, and finally, a vague sound of triumph. The signal cleared, and a woman wearing a half-mask, armored in a mix-match set from head to toe, answered, narrowing her eyes. “Captain Kha-Suvra, you have absolutely atrocious timing.”

“Master Zalo!” Zoai greeted her cheerfully. “So glad to see you, too.”

Master Zalo rolled her eyes, and looked over her shoulder furtively. “Yulishin, keep a lookout, would you?”

There was a pause, and Zoai joked, “Is Master Yulishin about to scold me for my terrible timing, too?”

“No. That falls to me.” Reaching up with one hand, Master Zalo pulled back her hood and mask and arched one brow ridge, characteristic to Sith purebloods. “I admit this is somewhat of a surprise.”

Yevari stepped forward and took control of the conversation. “Jedi Master Zalo? I’m Darth Imperius, aboard the  _ Doombringer _ . We find ourselves in a somewhat delicate situation. Zoai suggested you might be able to help.”

The brow ridge crept up higher. “Well, isn’t this interesting? I’d heard rumors that the captain had family in the Empire, but the Dark Council?  _ Very _ interesting. You have my attention. Call me Ismali. And lay out the facts you have.”

“First things first,” Zoai spoke up, “I remember you said you and Yulishin might be going to Zakuul...?”

“Yes, we’re still here, though I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Ismali glanced over her shoulder again. “Breaktown is a dangerous place to live these days, but that’s why we live there. Today, we’re in the Old World. There’s been some...developments on Zakuul that Yulishin and I were concerned about.”

“What sort of  _ developments? _ ” Arcann spoke up for the first time since entering the bridge, and Ismali couldn’ quite contain her shock in time to hide it.

“I...well, to be perfectly frank, it’s a power vacuum.” Ismali finally managed. “We heard an address from one of the emperor’s--well, one of  _ your _ \--Exarchs. It seems she’s attempting to galvanize Zakuul’s people and keep morale up.”

“Irrelevant right now.” Yevari interrupted. “We’re looking for Star Fortress schematics.”

Ismali looked thoughtful. “You wouldn’t need schematics unless you were planning on attacking or destroying one, which is something of a tall order. You must be after something very important.”

“A ship.” Yevari swallowed, not wanting to hand that kind of information off to a Jedi that easily, but if Zo trusted her... “One of my only remaining ships.”

For several beats, Ismali idly rubbed one of the bony ridges on her jaw. Another woman, Chiss, with the same kind of patchwork armor as Ismali, joined the call. “As much as I believe in giving the benefit of the doubt, I think I’d like at least one good reason why an Imperial vessel is of enough importance to us to put our mission on hold.”

“I find myself agreeing with Yulishin.” Ismali admitted at last. “This is a tall order.”

“Darth Imperius plans to join the Alliance in bringing down the Eternal Throne in whatever form it takes.” Cassaire spoke up this time. “Her vessel is an asset in future conflicts that would be difficult to replace.”

“To bring down the throne, you may have to understand who’s taken over.” Ismali folded her arms. “Would you care to hear more now?”

“Figures. Jedi always make me feel like I’m talking to my mom.” Zoai muttered.

“Exarch Naisha Vyrint.” Yulishin continued like Zoai hadn’t spoken, though her admonishing glare said enough. “Charismatic, a patriot, seemingly loyal to Zakuul’s people above all. Ismali is convinced that’s an angle we can work to our advantage. We were on our way to the Lady of Sorrows--Ismali claims to have a favor stored up with her that we could cash in. I suppose we could also see about the schematics--”

“No.” Cassaire said sharply. “The Lady isn’t...isn’t who we thought she was. She’s a hyper-advanced droid called SCORPIO, and she’s currently in control of the Eternal Fleet.”

“That means she can’t be trusted.” Ismali’s lip curled. “Blast. That means we have to start completely over.”

“What about the schematics?” Yevari glanced over the table at Arcann, who straightened almost imperceptibly. “Do you have a more specific idea where they might be stored? Zakuul is a somewhat large planet to search.”

“Possibly the Overwatch Command.” he replied stiffly.

“That makes sense.” Cassaire nodded. “Sethali found schematics for the whole Spire in there--it’s a good place to start, at least.”

“Yulishin and I likely won’t be able to find out much, but we’ll do what we can.” Ismali glanced at Yulishin, and both Jedi wore expressions of resigned determination. “I’d recommend finding your way here soon, though.”

“Agreed.” Yevari pushed back from her table. “We’ll be in touch.”

Both Jedi vanished from Yevari’s holoterminal, and she rubbed her temples. “Zoai,” Iona spoke up quietly, “we have some final touches to make on the prosthetic.”

“Damn, right--let’s get to work on that. Sooner the better.” Zoai’s gaze flickered between Yevari, Cassaire, and Arcann. “Don’t have too much fun up here or anything while we’re gone.”

The joke fell flat, and Yevari picked up her datapad. “Six days.” she finally said flatly. “That’s the maximum amount of time before either the Eternal Fleet catches us, or Acina sends additional vessels to attempt apprehending me.”

“Six days.” Cassaire echoed. “It’ll have to be enough.”

Soon, both Cassaire and Arcann departed the bridge as well--probably headed back to the infirmary--and Yevari was left alone, in the silence of her bridge. It had been solemn, before. Now, it only felt foreboding.

_ Six days. _

Yevari wordlessly picked up her datapad and set a timer for the projected timeframe before their discovery. She set it back down on her holoterminal.

“Bring it on.” she whispered to the empty air.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooly moly ya'll--I'm sorry the time gap between chapters got a little bit longer than originally planned. Real life got just a little too stressful to write every day like I wanted to, but I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait!

It seemed a whole other lifetime ago that Naisha had thought of the Old World as home. She couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

Today, it was bad. Today, she donned a hooded cloak and plain clothes and slung a plainer version of her lightsaber pike over one shoulder, hidden in the cloak’s folds, because of Arcann’s deal with the Heralds that forbade her presence. Today, it was bad, because there was an unspoken but clearly defined divide between  _ her _ and  _ them _ . No matter if she had been born in the lowest streets in Breaktown, all the Old World would see today was a Knight.

She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad, either. It made her a target, but only if she wasn’t careful. Naisha had built her childhood on caution.

If there had been the time or she had the authority for such things, Naisha would have muzzled the Heralds’ ability to police the Old World long ago, but that assumed she could get the other Exarchs to agree on a course of action. For better or worse, they were all that remained of the upper power structure, and Naisha could not act without their help. With Forta Gair on her way back to Belsavis, it left Naisha bereft of allies that were crucial to gain that kind of momentum. Declawing the Heralds would take no insignificant investment of resources.

Today, Naisha was here on what would ordinarily be considered a menial issue for someone of her rank--an aide had nervously reported an anonymous tip that the pit fights in the Old World were being rigged.

Much like the Heralds, the pit fights were something Naisha would have liked to see dismantled in their entirety, but today, she would settle for whatever small amount of corruption she could remove. It never felt like enough, looking down at the infinite twinkling city lights she could see from the top of the Spire.

When Naisha arrived at the coordinates the anonymous tip had provided, however, she found only an empty merchant’s counter at market station--another counter for placing bets in the pit fights sat nearby, but was being manned by someone who didn’t even come close to fitting the target description. She approached the counter anyway.

“Excuse me?” the woman who turned at Naisha’s words got a calculating glint in her eye, like she was looking at a new mark. Naisha raised her guard. “I was looking for Mona Gale.”

“Gale?” the woman’s face abruptly changed, and Naisha scowled. “She’s been gone for months. Some say the Heralds got her. Guess she pulled a fast one on one too many people.”

“I see. Thank you.” Naisha turned on her heel, reaching for her datapad as she walked away. So it was true that Gale had been scamming other gamblers, and yet Gale had been missing for months. Stopping in a more secluded corner, Naisha checked the file the aide had sent her with the anonymous tip’s details--the date was from a mere three weeks ago.

Either the person who delivered the tip was lying, or someone here in the Old World was. Naisha debated whether she had time to investigate further when a hand landed heavily on her shoulder--Naisha spun and was about to coil a fist up to strike when she recognized the face under the hood--the face of Voss’ Exarch.

Naisha and Exarch Melor stared at one another for several chilly beats of silence before Melor broke it. “Exarch Vyrint,” he said under his breath, mindful of the Old World’s listening ears, “I knew I would find you down here.”

“You orchestrated this.” Naisha said flatly. “Why?”

“You have been summoned to Voss.” Melor told her, but there was an odd stiffness to his tone that raised the hair on the back of Naisha’s neck. “For the good of our empire.”

“If you cared about our empire,” Naisha shot back, “you would have been there to discuss its future with the rest of its Exarchs.”

“Tell me, Vyrint--do you really believe that arguing among our fellows will achieve anything? That our people can rule by these methods, when we have only had sovereigns at the helm?” Melor asked.

“Yes.” Naisha told him matter-of-factly, without hesitation. “I believe it is the next step in making our empire a unified force. It will not be easy, but nothing worth doing is.”

“And do you think the Alliance will simply wait while we discuss such things?” Melor challenged, and Naisha scowled. “Come to the Star Fortress above Voss, and we can discuss the future.”

Melor turned and vanished once again into the bruised green shadows of the Old World, and left Naisha with far more questions than answers. She held up her datapad, handed to her by the same aide who’d delivered the anonymous tip that the royal family was on Voss, with its false tip, and let out a sigh as she tucked it back into her belt.

She would decide nothing here, and certainly not before she’d returned to Corellia. Naisha believed in her people, but she had other, more immediate priorities to attend to--resources, and how best to utilize them in the near future.

There were preparations that had to be made, Naisha thought as she hired a taxi to take her back to the Spire’s upper levels, but soon, she would go to Voss, and discuss the future that Exarch Melor was so set upon.

 

* * *

 

The first two days of the  _ Doombringer’ _ s fatal six-day countdown passed with relative peace and quiet, though an undercurrent of tension ran through every facet of the ship’s activity. Everyone aboard seemed to be aware they were running on borrowed time, and no one was more keenly aware of that fact, Cassaire thought as she left the elevator that brought her to the maintenance deck, than herself and Yevari.

Yevari had spent nearly those entire two days on the bridge, strategizing with Moff Pyron and coming up with contingencies in case Acina’s forces or the Eternal Fleet patrols crossed paths with them before the projected six-day timeframe. It was a short list of options.

They could try to fight, but the only advantage Yevari had was the Silencer weapon, which was becoming fatal to the crews who operated it. In any case, the weapon did almost nothing against Eternal Fleet ships anyway, and it left them open for far more devastating attacks.

They could flee, but without a solid destination, or a plan, for that matter, they’d only be tracked down again until they were destroyed, which brought them back to their first and only other option, fighting.

Cassaire rubbed one temple as a headache threatened to swell up. It was too much to worry about when there was very little she could do about it, but it was impossible not to think about what might happen if either one of their worst case scenarios came to pass.

The maintenance deck of the  _ Doombringer _ was almost always sparsely populated, but in the wake of the last battle, crews had been scurrying to and fro across the deck carrying out seemingly minor but vitally important repairs to the  _ Doombringer _ ’s everyday functions. Normally Cassaire wouldn’t have had much of a reason to be down here, but she supposed even her anxious pacing had become too much of a distraction for Yevari to handle.

“Cass, if you need to wear yourself out,” Yevari had told her, mildly exasperated, as she’d set her datapad down on the main holographic terminal with a little more force than strictly necessary, “use Ashara’s sparring area on the maintenance deck. It’s something to do, at least.”

So, that was exactly where Cassaire was going--to wear herself out, and hopefully keep herself in shape, though with the amount of combat she found herself in lately, it hardly seemed like it should’ve been a concern.

Under normal circumstances she might’ve gone to the infirmary, as well--both to check on their resident former emperor as well as keep Zoai and Iona from getting too frustrated with one another. Today, however, both Zo and Iona were in the midst of the procedure that would replace the charred, broken pieces of Arcann’s old prosthetic with the new one they’d constructed using the  _ Doombringer _ ’s available materials. Even with the two of them working together, Zoai had predicted it would take most of the afternoon.

Cassaire reached the compartment Yevari had specified and palmed the door control. Just beyond it lay all the usual implements one might expect to find in a Sith training room, with a few notably Jedi-like elements Cassaire didn’t recognize. The entire compartment was wide and open, ideal for sparring between Force-users, and dummies against the wall provided targets in case one happened to be alone, as Cassaire was now.

She kept her armor, but swapped out her lightsaber for one of the training blades kept on the rack against the wall. Her fingers closed around the grip and she felt, inexplicably, as though she should have been wielding  _ two _ , not one.

Cassaire stretched her left arm experimentally and felt the familiar twinge of pain. She felt disappointed, and didn’t know why. She’d been wielding only a single saber for years now, ever since the messy break in her left arm had forced a complete overhaul of her training regimen mere months before being dropped on Korriban.

There was an obvious implication of failure, there, but it wasn’t hers. It  _ wasn’t _ .

_ If you had trained harder, if you had been better, it would never have happened. _

Cassaire swung around in a vicious slash as if she could physically strike the thoughts from her mind, and fell into an easy rhythm of practicing familiar saber strikes against the nearest training dummy. It wasn’t quite the same as sparring with another active participant, but it achieved what Cassaire had set out to do--waste time, and wear herself out.

When she spun to a halt at last to wipe a clump of sweaty hair off her forehead, she heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat, and Cassaire turned to see Yevari shuffling in the doorway, trying to appear cool and detached. Cassaire knew better.

“What?” Cassaire asked, still catching her breath. She’d gotten an apology out of Yevari, and that was more than she’d been expecting, but there were still a few layers of tension between them Cassaire didn’t think she was imagining.

Yevari wordlessly held out a canteen of water and Cassaire regarded it from across the room. Thirst won out over tension, and Cassaire dropped the training blade as she crossed the room to take the canteen from Yevari’s hand, drinking half of it in one go.

“Zoai and Iona finished with Arcann, and they’re running preliminary tests to see how the prosthetic is performing.” Yevari informed Cassaire, one hand planted on her hip. “I was going to stop by and see how things were going.”

“And you came to inform me...why?” Cassaire arched a brow as she capped the canteen and held onto it.

“I had an idea.” Yevari mirrored Cassaire’s expression, and they regarded one another evenly. “Related to our current situation. It involves most people in the infirmary as well as us, so I’ll explain there.”

“Your talent for piquing curiosity and concern in equal measure hasn’t changed, I see.” Cassaire said, only half-joking, as she set the practice blade back in its rack and took her lightsaber from where she’d dropped it earlier. It was partly true, but she’d also said it in an attempt to lift some of the tension in the room.

It succeeded; Yevari’s face shifted, and she didn’t look quite so anxious as a tiny smirk softened some of the tautness in her expression. “That was my chief strategy dealing with the Dark Council, you know--keep them  _ just _ interested enough in my ideas to keep listening.”

Their walk to the infirmary was silent, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that had characterized most of their recent interactions--it was easier, and more familiar, and more reminiscent of the kind of atmosphere that lingered around them when the Wrath’s Hand was still a prominent force in the Empire, when they’d had a chance to bring change.

_ We’re still bringing change, _ Cassaire reminded herself as they walked up to the infirmary’s main entrance, thinking about what Yuhanos had told her on Voss,  _ just not the way we planned it. _

Inside, Arcann sat stiffly on an exam table while Zoai and Iona hovered in his general orbit, both holding at least one datapad and conversing amongst themselves, occasionally asking Arcann a question, which he typically responded to with one-word answers.

“How did it go?” Yevari interrupted, clearly unwilling to wait for a break in the conversation. Arcann straightened even more, though Cassaire wouldn’t have thought it possible, and Zoai sighed, setting her datapad down. Her red hair was still pinned back and she’d swapped out her spacer gear for something more obviously suited for medical procedures, and while she generally presented a more composed and professional picture than normal, the casual way she leaned against the exam table was unmistakably Zoai in nature.

“Went pretty well, I thought.” Zoai jerked her thumb in Iona’s direction. “Both Io and I have run all the tests we can think of, and everything’s coming back green so far, but the only thing that’ll tell us how things are  _ actually _ going is field work. Or something like it.”

“Well, that does fit well with our timetable.” Yevari linked her hands behind her back. “It’s not exactly news that we only have four days now before either Acina sends reinforcements or the Eternal Fleet patrols in the Belsavis system catch on to our presence. I have a plan.”

“I’d hope so, since you’ve been up on the bridge for nearly two days straight.” Zoai scowled. “When we’re done here, Yev, take a  _ nap _ .”

“The plan is this,” Yevari began, ignoring Zoai’s statement for the time being at least, though Cassaire wouldn’t put it past Yevari to try and stay awake for the whole six days, “Master Zalo and Master Yulishin have been forwarding me what they’ve found as far as the Overwatch Command goes, and Master Zalo claims she’s found a possible way for a small group to get inside unnoticed for a short time.”

“Do we know where to find what we’re looking for?” Cassaire asked, leaning one hip against the nearby cabinet.

“Not precisely.” Yevari replied, unfazed. “It’s possible they’ll have more information for you when you get there, or at least some ideas where to start searching.” Yevari focused on Arcann, who narrowed his one visible eye, as Zoai had apparently let him put his mask on again following her initial examination. “You’ll be going, as will Cass and Zo, using Zo’s freighter. You won’t be going as combat support--with Master Zalo, Master Yulishin, Cass,  _ and _ Zo there, they should be sufficient--but it would be foolish to send you if we don’t have some grasp how well your new prosthetic will hold up if you  _ do _ find yourselves in a fight.”

“I want to start training with a lightsaber.” Arcann spoke up, for the first time during this conversation, and Zoai’s deep and long-suffering sigh said this was already a hotly-debated topic.

“Kid, you’re not going  _ near _ a lightsaber or  _ anything _ related to the Force until Io and I figure out exactly how your new arm is going to work under combat stress, all right?” Zoai retorted, not  _ quite _ a snap, but close.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Yevari turned her gaze on Cassaire briefly, who shifted slightly where she leaned against the cabinet, before looking at Arcann again. “Cass was a vibroblade master before she ever started Sith training. She can help get you back up to speed.”

“I can, can I?” Cassaire squashed whatever apprehension threatened to flip her stomach end over end. “I don’t recall being consulted about this before.”

“There’s no one better,” Yevari folded her arms loosely, “and it won’t be for long. I project you’ll need a day to travel from here to Zakuul, you’ll have a day to accomplish the mission, then one day to return. We’d be cutting things close, but we don’t have a choice.” Yevari shrugged.

“One day isn’t much to work with, training-wise.” Cassaire scowled, and drummed one hand’s fingers idly against her thigh.

“Two days.” Arcann corrected. “We can start today.”

“Actually, you can’t.” Zoai’s grin was forced and tense, and Cassaire could almost  _ see _ her patience straining. “Today, we’re doing exercises and stretches while you still get used to having the new prosthetic. Technically I don’t think we should even be  _ thinking _ about vibroblade training until after this mission, but this isn’t exactly an ideal situation.”

Cassaire mentally ran through the exercises she’d done at the beginning of her vibroblade training in House Rist, and made a note to look up the others when this meeting was done--it forced her to tug on strings of memory that had long since become obsolete. Until now, apparently. “I’ll put something together for tomorrow,” she threw what she hoped was an apologetic-looking glance Arcann’s way, “but I agree with Zo’s assessment.”

She only got a half-hearted grunt in acknowledgement, which was unsurprising, but also somehow disappointing. “If there’s nothing else,” Zoai spoke up, “Iona and I have some more things to take care of here. And Yev,” Zoai pointed an accusing finger at Yevari, who pouted comically, “I was serious about taking a nap.”

Yevari made an exasperated noise, turning on her heel and leaving the infirmary in a huff. Cassaire followed, albeit at a slower pace, and let out a breath when she reached her quarters on the command deck. Her armor came off, piece by piece, and she threw her long jacket on over her plain shirt and pants, sitting at her desk and pulling up a terminal. House Rist training techniques weren’t exactly common knowledge, and they certainly weren’t easy to find on the wider holonet, but it wasn’t as though Cassaire had anything better to do.

In the end, her hours of searching yielded only a few results, but that combined with what Cassaire remembered from her own training was enough to at least get started with. It was late, and fatigue made Cassaire’s eyes burn, but she kept working regardless, still feeling a current of tension aboard the ship that seemed to run through everything and everyone aboard. She compiled her findings and her own memories of her training into a rough sort of training guide, and transferred the file to her datapad in preparation.

The chrono on the wall told Cassaire she should have been asleep, like most of the ship undoubtedly was, but there was still a restless itch under her skin that refused to fade, so Cassaire washed her face, combed her hair over her scalp again, and walked the  _ Doombringer’ _ s corridors.

Only a skeleton crew was awake at this hour, mostly just patrols of Yevari’s remaining forces, and most of them acknowledged Cassaire with brief greetings that she returned as she walked. It was similar to her walks around Odessen base late at night, but there she’d have a much greater chance of running into someone who might be concerned at the late hour she found herself wandering.

Her feet carried her in the direction of the infirmary, and part of her thought it might have been because she could get something to help her sleep from either Zoai or Iona. It was better than staying awake all night, but sleep wouldn’t come to her naturally, not in the tight, cramped quarters here, or in her quarters on Odessen, for that matter. It was easier to hide it there, but here, there were only a select few people who could help.

Zoai was conspicuously absent, and Iona was asleep on her cot at the far end of the infirmary’s main office. It should have been enough to turn Cassaire away and keep her moving, but she hesitated.

Arcann sat at the desk Zoai typically worked from, slowly squeezing what looked like a foam ball in his prosthetic hand with focused concentration. Either he sensed her presence or something else tipped him off that he was no longer alone, but he looked up and made eye contact with her--full eye contact, since his mask was gone again. The shine of freshly-drying kolto on that side of his face provided the explanation why.

“I see Zo is cracking down on the mask.” Cassaire said lightly.

Arcann huffed and returned his attention to the foam ball, carefully setting it down on the desk’s surface. “Among other things, yes.”

After a brief pause, where Cassaire considered leaving before she botched the conversation, she walked up and tapped the chair across from his. “May I?”

There was a palpable hesitation, but he eventually nodded once. “Very well.”

Cassaire took the chair and saw a datapad sitting next to Arcann’s other hand, open to a page of notes--whether it was instructions from Zoai or notes Arcann himself was taking could be anyone’s guess. “How are you feeling?”

The glare he fixed on her was equal parts frustration and wariness. “If you are asking about my medical state--”

“No, I’m not--I wouldn’t understand half the medical jargon anyway.” Cassaire waved her hand dismissively. “I guess I’m just asking...how you’re doing.”

When his expression turned into something profoundly confused, like she was speaking total nonsense, it made Cassaire wish she  _ had _ just continued her walk. “Why?”

“Personally I would consider it a reasonable question given the circumstances.” Cassaire pulled one leg up to her chest and held it there with both arms wrapped around it. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s an acceptable response. I didn’t intend to cross boundaries.”

Silence fell, empty and somehow brittle, and Cassaire was about to get up and attempt sleep at last when Arcann said, tentatively, “I have...a question for you.”

“I hope I have an answer.” Cassaire shifted her other leg and stretched.

“Darth Imperius mentioned you mastered the vibroblade before your Sith training.” Cassaire’s eye was drawn to the motion of Arcann’s prosthetic hand squeezing that foam ball again--which, Cassaire belatedly realized, was roughly painted to resemble a thermal detonator, Zoai’s questionable sense of humor at work--before she refocused. “I was curious how.”

To what she imagined was both their surprise, Cassaire’s lip quirked up in a faint grin. “I’ll make you a deal.” she released the leg she’d pulled up to her chest and leaned both elbows on Zoai’s desk. “Once you can best me with a vibroblade, I’ll tell you how that came to be.”

He got a faintly competitive glint to his eyes, but Cassaire was unfazed. She’d seen her share of competition both in House Rist and among the Sith, and such displays no longer intimidated her. “I can accept those terms.”

“You may find yourself reconsidering after we start training.” Cassaire couldn’t resist throwing out there. “But we’ll see after the mission, won’t we?”

At the mention of the upcoming mission, some of the room’s lightheartedness fell away, but it was unavoidable. Arcann’s grip on the foam ball tightened noticeably, and part of Cassaire wanted to ask how he felt about going back to Zakuul for the first time since the Battle of Odessen, but sensed she’d pushed her luck far enough for one night.

Instead, she got up and spared a glance at Iona’s cot, thinking for a split second of waking the sleeping lord to get something that would aid her sleep, but the deep fatigue in Iona’s shoulders, even at rest, was enough to convince her otherwise. Iona had done enough for one day--Cassaire would survive one night of restless sleep.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Cassaire finally said, mindful of Iona sleeping nearby. “Good night, Arcann.”

When she left, she was still tired, but in lighter spirits, and couldn’t help but feel that had to count for something.

* * *

After the official news spread that Sethali had rejected an alliance with the Empire, Odessen base became rife with the kind of tension that came from unanswered questions.

Sethali couldn’t answer all of them, though stars knew she wanted to try. Her Imperial supporters questioned why she hadn’t considered an alliance and her Republic supporters questioned why she  _ had _ . Sometimes it hardly seemed like she was Alliance Commander at all--really she was just in charge of wrangling the people from both sides who hated the Eternal Empire more than they hated each other.

At the forefront of her mind, though, the very thing that had kept Sethali awake for at least a few hours every night since returning from Dromund Kaas, was the fact Acina had spoken to Yevari, and that, whatever had happened after the brief snatch of conversation Silas’ source had procured, Yevari was nowhere to be found on Dromund Kaas since then.

The obvious implication was that Yevari was gone, but Sethali wasn’t quite ready to believe that, not without some kind of proof. The odds were overwhelmingly against her, but Yevari had survived Sith politics before she’d even had allies, much less a power base, and as far as Sethali knew, Yevari still had both. Even if she didn’t, Sethali wasn’t willing to write the plucky Dark Lord off just yet.

Missing Sith, however, also reminded Sethali that Lord Castor was still at large, along with Zakuul’s former emperor, and no progress had been made in tracking either of them down. Every time she saw Yuhanos around Odessen, alone, it drove a fresh knife of guilt into her chest. Even Silas was stumped, and Sethali had few other resources to call upon at the moment.

The one bright spot of news, really, was that the  _ Gravestone’ _ s repairs were coming along much faster than originally expected. Koth’s crew worked practically around the clock, evident from the brief, bright flashes of light from welding tools that Sethali could see from the railing leading to the valley beyond the base, where the ship was dry-docked.

It was late, or early, depending on how Sethali wanted to think about it--a hint of gray at the horizon said dawn was close to breaking, which meant she’d been out here for hours, watching the repair crews work--and she watched as patrols changed. Those assigned to the universally-hated night watch tiredly greeted the fresh patrols, and Sethali pushed herself back from the railing, unsure where to go, just knowing she needed to  _ move _ .

Part of her was tempted to go back down to the forested area just off the base itself, where she’d started to cultivate something like a small garden, really just an excuse to play in the dirt when she needed a break from the constant noise. Another part said she couldn’t be down there all the time, lest rumors start to circulate that she wasn’t fit for duty, constantly spending time doing things that were distinctly unrelated to Alliance activity.

Instead, Sethali pulled out her datapad and opened it to the encoded message Silas had sent her yesterday. It was succinct and got right to the point, at least.

_ I’ve planted the idea that Darth Syron and Darth Anrix are seeking to drum up more Imperial support again, and it’s taken off with typical speed. It’s causing divisions in Kaas City already, particularly knowing they’re both deeply embedded with the Alliance who rejected an official alliance with the Empire. Even so, I’m getting some promising leads. _

Promising leads weren’t everything, but she would take what she could get at this point.

Both Natalle and Kahla had been skeptical about how much influence they still had in the Empire given how long they’d both been absent, but had readily agreed to Silas’ scheme in an attempt to drum up more allies from within the Empire. Natalle, in particular, had her doubts, but if nothing else it laid the groundwork for potential new recruits.

Turning sharply on her heel, Sethali returned to the edge of the base that overlooked the valley below, and almost forcefully rested her forearms on the railing again. It was still early, and by all accounts had at least an hour before someone tracked her down regarding some sort of imminent crisis. Most of the guards were gone, or at least out of sight while they switched shifts, and here, for the moment, it was silent.

The metallic  _ thunk _ sound of a lift arriving from a different level of Odessen’s base made Sethali sigh and turn her head, ready to accept her quiet time was up for now--

But it was no guard or aide come to tell Sethali more bad news. Instead, it was only Vaylin, holding that same holocamera in her hands and frozen where she stood, as though shocked to find Sethali here this early.

“Good morning, Vaylin.” Sethali greeted her evenly, with as sincere a smile as she could muster. With the exhausted slope of her shoulders, she was afraid it likely wasn’t very convincing.

“What are you doing here?” Vaylin asked, taking a few cautious steps closer to the railing. She still wore her usual robes, but the hood was down, leaving dark brown hair to drape over her shoulders and down her back, out of sight.

There was no satisfactory answer Sethali could give Vaylin that wouldn’t involve some kind of explanation about her concern for Yevari, her fear for Cassaire, and the sinking feeling she’d bitten off far more than she could chew in Sith politics, so Sethali only said, “I couldn’t sleep earlier. I guess I lost track of time.” Sethali nodded in the vague direction of the holocamera in Vaylin’s hands. “Taken anything else?”

“Not yet.” Vaylin replied cagily, and Sethali didn’t push the matter.

Vaylin didn’t leave, though, and after a brief pause Sethali registered movement out of the corner of her eye as Vaylin leaned against the railing a safe distance from where Sethali herself stood. Neither of them spoke, for the moment, but the silence that passed between them was temperate and easy.

“I thought about what you said.” Vaylin finally spoke up again, and when Sethali looked up she found Vaylin had shifted close enough to be within conversational earshot. “About being Father’s pawn, and what you told me on Voss.”

“Oh?” Sethali felt a bit of shame thinking about that conversation, remembering how she’d callously brought up what had to have been an unmentionably harsh childhood for Vaylin, but found her curiosity piqued.

“He may be rattling around in that skull of yours,” Vaylin scowled, but it was a thoughtful expression, and while it still held an air of suspicion, it wasn’t as sharp as Sethali had typically seen it, “but you choose differently than he would.”

“Being able to choose what I believe is right isn’t easy, sometimes,” Sethali tapped the railing pensively with two fingers before gripping tightly, “but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

They held eye contact for a charged moment, and Sethali couldn’t help but feel she was being weighed up for honesty. She must have passed--or Vaylin simply wanted to let the matter rest--because Vaylin turned back to the valley again as the sun began to rise slowly over the horizon, but didn’t shift farther away.

It was only when the sun was halfway up Sethali saw Vaylin pull the holocamera out again, and didn’t move, scarcely breathed, in case she ruined whatever moment Vaylin intended to capture here. The typical white noise of Odessen’s background, everyday routine began to trickle in, shuttles departing the hangars below as they headed for missions across the galaxy, and her datapad chimed once in her pocket, but still, Sethali waited.

She didn’t know if Vaylin had taken anything or if she’d merely thought about it before deciding against it, but she put the holocamera away and leaned back from the railing, sparing one more considering look Sethali’s way before heading for the lift that would take her back to the living quarters.

A new day, and despite the underlying current of tension, despite the datapad in her pocket that warned her a new situation was likely about to be thrust into her hands, despite the uncertain direction the Alliance might be taking unless they made more allies, still, somehow, the day felt just a little bit brighter.


	14. Chapter 14

It was a facetious saying around Kaas City, and the Citadel in particular, to claim that the city was lovely this time of year, but it was always one that Silas found grimly ironic.

A storm raged outside the corridor leading to his office, just below the old headquarters for Imperial intelligence, and the lightning that danced through the ominously dark clouds far above promised no end in sight to the torrential rain. Holocom signals would be disrupted, speeder traffic outside the city would be more closely moderated, and most of the city’s residents would find themselves indoors--Silas included.

Another lovely day in Kaas City--but Silas could still sense the underlying tension.

Word that the Alliance Commander had refused an alliance with their Empress had spread with characteristic speed given Kaas City’s usual complement of gossips, but that had worked in Silas’ favor, as well. Darth Syron and Darth Anrix had both been known to be allies of the Alliance, but had not seen fit to call upon their old connections, not until now, and he was already seeing possible allies for himself--thus, the Commander--to utilize. Slowly, it brought dissenting voices out of the woodwork, the kind of voices Acina had hoped to keep in check with her gutting of the Wrath’s Hand and the capture of Lord Castor years ago, the kind of voices that had to be silenced to give the Empire the impression of surrender, even if it had been a reluctant one, to say the least.

It had worked, but now they needed those dissenting voices. They needed the  _ loudest _ voices, the ones that carried the most weight.

It would take more than rumors to bring those kinds of voices to the forefront again, but Silas was nothing if not persistent.

Silas’ office was the one place in Kaas City he felt completely safe in removing his father’s mask--he normally set it on the first table coming in as he went to his desk, catching up on the day’s reports. He approached, keyed the necessary security codes, and stepped within--but stopped.

He had no sense of the Force, nothing but his intuition to tell him when something was awry, but years spent both as a cipher agent and then impersonating his Sith lord father had taught Silas that his intuition was trustworthy, most of the time.

Today, it told him something loud and clear-- _ you are not alone. _

He had contingencies for this, naturally--traps were situated all around the office, both to remove intruders and to thwart whatever they hoped to achieve breaking in, but Silas didn’t trigger any of them just yet, slowly moving from chamber to chamber, footsteps silent on the smooth floor, some of them carpeted with deep red rugs.

Silas stepped into his office itself, with the window overlooking Kaas City, and came face-to-face with a living ghost.

“Greetings, Darth Antahl,” said Darth Occlus, the former Lord of Mysteries on the Dark Council, “if that’s really your name.”

Silas and Darth Occlus stared at one another, the former Dark Lord’s bright red eyes cutting into the faceless anonymity his father’s mask gave him, and Silas’ jaw tightened. “Would you care to explain why you’ve let yourself into my private office?”

Darth Occlus  _ tsk _ -ed their tongue at him, running fingers through black hair meticulously yet haphazardly styled with hair gel, and said, “I think a better question is why your office was so unsecured such that I could get in at all. Especially given your current political leanings.”

“If you knew anything about my current political pursuits,” Silas replied disdainfully, “you ought to realize intimidation is hardly an effective tactic when negotiating with me.”

“Intimidation?” Darth Occlus’ brow ridges raised high with surprised indignation, though Silas doubted it was genuine. “Why, I’m only ensuring we start negotiations on even footing. A secret for a secret. I do specialize in those, after all. ” they winked, and the grin on their lips wasn’t  _ quite _ predatory, but something near enough to it. “You now know that I have been keeping a  _ very _ close eye on galactic politics, despite my only occasional presence here in Kaas City, and I know that you aren’t, in fact, the true Darth Antahl.”

Silas worked his jaw. “I cannot help but feel one of those secrets is far more damning than the other, Occlus.”

“Nonsense!” Occlus told him cheerfully, planting one fist upon their hip. “If Acina found out I was back in Kaas City,  _ and _ talking to you, a former intelligence agent impersonating a dead Sith lord, both of us would be cast out at the very best case scenario. Particularly considering what I want to discuss.”

“And what would that be?” Silas leaned his hands flat against his desk as Darth Occlus moved slowly around the room, a liquid shadow sliding from corner to corner with hands clasped behind their back. They were both watching the other, and Silas still hadn’t taken his hand off the detonator for his office’s traps, a fact that Occlus seemed to be well aware of as their gaze kept straying to where it rested in his hand.

“I would very much like to discuss the Alliance Commander.” Occlus finally stopped and rested their hands against Silas’ desk, across from where he himself leaned. “And the future of her campaigns to dismantle the Eternal Throne now she’s rejected the Empire’s aid.”

“I don’t believe for one moment you’re here out of the goodness of your heart.” Silas told them without missing a beat.

Occlus’ grin was dry and empty. “I should expect as much from a former intelligence agent, shouldn’t I? True, but my motives aren’t wholly selfish, either. I want the Eternal Throne removed from power, as the Alliance does, and common ground is important, is it not?”

“If you have an offer,” Silas said, rapidly running out of patience, “make it. Quickly.”

“Tell the Commander to come to the abandoned orbital station above Ziost,” Occlus said, folding their arms carefully over their chest, making it clear they weren’t going for a weapon, “and I will be glad to discuss my terms with her in person.”

“I’m afraid I need a little more than your good will to make that kind of offer to the Commander herself,” Silas arched a brow, despite knowing Occlus couldn’t see it, “considering she tends to be somewhat busy these days. You both want the Eternal Throne removed from power, but your commitment is somewhat questionable, given your departures from the galactic stage at multiple points these past several years.”

A chilly silence settled over the office, and Occlus uncrossed their arms, fingers clenching into fists and slowly releasing. “I know Imperius is missing.” Occlus said finally, and their voice could have frozen magma solid. “I know Acina tried to get her to come back to the Empire, but she obviously isn’t here now, and I--Yevari and I weren’t always  _ friends _ ...but she was a valuable ally to my cause at a critical junction.” Occlus’ red eyes hardened, and they lost their lighthearted inflection. “It’s time I return the favor. Even if she isn’t here herself, I can still aid the cause she advocated for.”

Silas spent several seconds gauging the sincerity of Occlus’ motives, but in the end knew he had little choice but to let Sethali know she had another potential ally in the Empire--after rejecting Acina’s offer, she was low on high-ranking friends, and both he and Occlus seemed perfectly aware of the fact.

Even so, the fact they mentioned Darth Imperius at all was...curious. If nothing else, Sethali  _ would _ likely want to speak to Occlus herself anyway.

“I will pass a message along,” Silas warned Occlus, “but I make no guarantees she’ll agree. I’d also like to remark on the fact that Ziost is an unusual location for a rendezvous.”

Occlus grinned again, their serious demeanor dropping away. “You think I’ve simply been spinning my wheels for my own amusement all this time? Certainly not. My speciality may be secrets, Silas Reth, but above all, my speciality is the  _ Emperor’s _ secrets. Ziost is the nexus of multiple possible avenues for the many things Vitiate hid from his Empire. I think the Commander will be  _ very _ interested to hear about that.”

“I won’t mention that unless you can provide me specific evidence even  _ suggesting _ the existence of any secrets of the Emperor’s that would help her in the Alliance’s current pursuits.” Silas scowled.

“Then chew this over, if you like--Vitiate, Valkorion, whatever he calls himself now, he still exists, in some form or other.” Occlus folded their arms once more. “He wasn’t killed when the commander supposedly struck him down. He’s still alive, I think I have an idea where he is, and I might have a few ideas to contain him, but I need to speak with the Commander herself. Given that her Alliance is the only institution that  _ might _ have both the resources and the willingness to pursue further research on the matter. You understand.”

A stony silence fell between them, and at last Silas told Occlus, removing his finger from the trap detonator, “I’ll send word to the commander as well as coordinates to the abandoned station where you claim you’ve centered your resources. We’ll see what she makes of it.”

“Very good.” Occlus leaned back from Silas’ desk, and the ambient tension in the room slowly trickled away. “That’s all I ask. And, Silas?”

Silas’ lip curled at the sound of his first name--an obvious reminder of what Occlus now knew, what they could use against him--but he maintained his steady tone. “Yes?”

“Call me Coda.” Occlus moved past him in the direction of his office’s exit. “I get the feeling we’ll be working together  _ quite _ a bit in the near future.”

* * *

Corellia was a corporate landscape that Naisha had been forced to learn how to navigate over time, but some of its intricacies still eluded her.

This was a world of business, of manufacturing, of costs and results. It was no barren, lawless wasteland, like Tatooine, or a deadly, verdant political nightmare like Alderaan, but Naisha knew each Exarch had been assigned to a world that was valuable to the Eternal Throne in some way, even if it wasn’t obvious to her. The people here did not require her spiritual guidance for the most part, only her authority, and that was precisely where Naisha excelled.

Her Star Fortress hovered in standby, as she’d ordered when she’d first left for Zakuul after Arcann and Vaylin disappeared. Thus far, Corellia’s citizens and its high-ranking businessmen--the ones Naisha dealt with on a fairly regular basis--had shown no signs of uprising or revolt, but with at least a few of them, Naisha knew it wasn’t due to a lack of resolve: they simply waited for the best time to strike.

It was her job now to ensure there wouldn’t  _ be _ a good time to strike, not with the throne sitting empty and the Eternal Empire’s future still so uncertain.

In the main hangar, Knight-Captain Cedu waited in full armor, carrying her lightsaber pike and shield at full attention, as Naisha left her shuttle and locked it down. “At ease, Knight-Captain,” Naisha waved one hand dismissively, and the knight-captain wasted no time in slinging her lightsaber pike and shield over one shoulder, easily keeping pace with Naisha’s brisk stride. “It seems all quiet out there.”

“It does, but that troubles me.” Imaka Cedu had served alongside Naisha for many years, and had been Naisha’s first recommendation to be reassigned to this Star Fortress after Naisha survived Project Exarch. In all that time Naisha had learned to read her well enough, but there was a stilted stiffness to the knight-captain’s posture that told Naisha something was possibly amiss. “Word has begun to spread now, about Arcann and Vaylin, but still we have heard nothing from the planet below.”

“You think we ought to be hearing at least the vague stirrings of rebellion.” Naisha concluded as they arrived at the Star Fortress’ heart--its sun generator, nearby where Naisha kept her quarters.

“It concerns me that we haven’t.” Cedu folded her arms over her chest and watched as Naisha set down her own lightsaber pike in the corner, then removed her helmet and set it slowly down onto her desk, thinking.

“We can’t tighten the noose without a good reason.” Naisha said at last, turning to face her knight-captain and resting one fist on her armored hip. “And we have no one to make an example of, yet. All we can do for now is watch, and wait.”

Cedu sighed and shook her head a little. “That is what unsettles me the most. Before I forget--we received a message from Exarch Gair.”

“What did she have for us?” Naisha set about removing the shoulder pauldrons from her armor, laying them on her desk beside her helmet.

“She mentioned an Imperial vessel that her Star Fortress captured not long ago.” Cedu began to pace slowly back and forth just inside the threshold of Naisha’s office, hands linked behind her back. “She claimed that the vessel was registered to one of the former Dark Council members of the Sith Empire, but was unable thus far to determine precisely who. She thought you would want to know anyway.”

“Indeed.” Naisha murmured, unease sitting heavy in her chest. “Inform Gair that I want to know who the Dark Council member is, when she discovers it. The timing of such a circumstance is...curious.”

_ Far too curious to be mere coincidence. _

“I will see it done.” Cedu nodded her acknowledgement. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes.” Naisha picked up her datapad and found one unread holo left for her perusal. “Reach out to the corporate executives and determine their available inventory--components for hyperdrive manufacture, droid construction, any raw resource they have at their disposal.”

“Which ones?” Cedu asked after a hesitant pause.

“All of them.” Naisha looked up from her datapad at that, gauging the knight-captain’s reaction. “The one thing all of my fellow Exarchs agreed on was that our Star Fortresses are our greatest resources, now more than ever. If they are all we will have to face the Alliance, we need to know what we have to work with, particularly if we cannot find a way to wrest the fleet back from that errant droid.”

“That will take time, Exarch.” Cedu folded her arms again, and Naisha couldn’t see her face under the inscrutable helmet, but could imagine all too easily the tight, thin line of her pursed lips.

“Then begin  _ immediately _ , Knight-Captain.” Naisha said, quietly but with no less force than if she had commanded it. “You’re dismissed.”

There was a brief pause where Naisha thought the knight-captain might  _ actually _ say how she felt about Naisha’s cautious strategy, but she turned on her heel and left instead. She supposed Cedu already knew that Naisha would know her thoughts on the matter, and saying them now would’ve been an unnecessary waste of time, when Naisha knew her mind wouldn’t be changed, not now, and certainly not in this matter. A reckless misstep now could cost them everything.

She turned back to her datapad and its unread message, removing the rest of her armor pieces, and setting them haphazardly on her desk until only her meager under-armor suit remained, which she left, for now, as she took a seat in her desk chair.

The message was from Exarch Melor, but Naisha didn’t listen to it just yet, trying and failing not to think of her excursion to the Old World just before returning here. There was enough to deal with on her own Star Fortress without chasing down cryptic messages and Melor’s apparent desire to discuss the Eternal Empire’s future  _ without _ the rest of the Exarchs.

Naisha dismissed the message for now, and her datapad chimed with another alert--a few executives from Coronet City were already forwarding preliminary lists of available resources, and her lip curved up into a dry half-smile. The ones that responded to her the most quickly were usually the ones most desperate to prove they were willing to cooperate with her authority. It told her they would do  _ anything _ if it meant they got to keep their lives and at least some of their wealth. That was the kind of weak-spined cowardice she could make some use of.

Because  _ anything _ , hopefully, included Naisha’s opposition of the Alliance that sought to remove her from power, and this would be her first step towards seizing the future she knew was out there, if she was bold enough to take it.

It all depended on the kind of negotiating she could do with Coronet City’s upper echelon, because she was certain the Alliance would want to bring more worlds into the fold, and even if the Alliance’s Commander had seemingly gone quiet in the wake of the conflict over Odessen, Naisha doubted they would remain that way for long. If she was smart, she would be gathering allies of her own, as Naisha was, and ultimately she knew it would come down to which allies would prove most useful in the long-term.

Still, she couldn’t rely wholly upon the executives’ cooperation through their fear of her wrath forever. It wouldn’t hurt to get a gauge of the political climate on the surface.

“Knight-Captain,” Naisha tapped her embedded comlink, “I want eyes in Coronet City, and I want to know if there’s anything going on we should be concerned about as we gather our resources.”

“Do you have suspicions about any particular area?”

Naisha thought. “No,” she finally said, “I just want to know if there’s anything obvious that should be dealt with before I leave Corellia again. Whatever you find, forward it to me.”

“Understood, Exarch.” with a burst of static, Naisha’s comlink went quiet, and she idly rubbed her thumb underneath where her eye used to  be, covered by its cybernetic plate. She’d thought returning to her Star Fortress would ease some of the tension in her shoulders, seeing for herself that her domain was still fully under control, but apprehension still ran under the surface of her skin like an electric current, and she rose forcefully from the chair to pace outside the window that overlooked the sun generator.

She’d thought coming back here would return to her some measure of control, but instead Naisha felt farther away from the problems on Zakuul than she ever had, all but helpless.

_ Not for long, _ she reminded herself fiercely as she picked up the datapad with Exarch Melor’s message. Not for long, because soon she would go to Voss and find out, against her better judgment,  _ exactly _ what Exarch Melor considered more important than discussing their Empire’s future.

* * *

Vaylin was starting to see the appeal in the beauty of Odessen’s wilds, but in some way, it still left her apprehensive.

She’d come out here originally because it was quiet, and far enough away from the base that she didn’t feel as though she was being constantly watched. She didn’t know what peace was supposed to feel like anymore, perhaps had never known, not really, but here, at least it was quiet.

Today, the silence felt thick, and Vaylin half-expected something to leap out at her from the shadows as she walked, slowly and deliberately, her hood pulled down to let the faint breeze waft through her hair. Off to the side she could see the tiny garden that Sethali had begun to cultivate, small green shoots poking through the dirt in an area that Vaylin didn’t remember being empty the last time she’d seen it.

She was curious, despite herself, and after a quick glance around to confirm she was alone, Vaylin cautiously approached, and took in more details the closer she got. It was starting to become more obvious which areas Sethali had been tending to the longest--the green shoots coming up from the newly dug-up earth were at the far end of the plot.

Bizarrely, Vaylin saw tiny sheets of flimsi attached to small wooden stakes in the ground beside each plant, with the plant’s name and a short note in neat print that had to be Sethali’s writing.

_ Rootgrass -- attempt to make tea? ask Oggurobb/Natalle/Kahla _

_ Alderaanian flame-lily -- Lord Castor’s favorite _

_ Honey melon -- try adding more water next time _

Vaylin looked up at the plant with that last tag and saw the leaves covered in dark spots. She knew nothing about plants, but doubted it was supposed to look like that.

The sound of the lift arriving from Odessen’s main base made Vaylin jerk her head up to see the commander herself, but she made no move to approach the garden or acknowledge Vaylin’s presence--instead she had both hands laced behind her neck and was pacing an anxious, sharp line just outside the lift, an obviously distressed thread of tension running through her shoulders.

Vaylin was frozen briefly by indecision, and in the split second, she saw another choice, a line drawn with two sides.

On one side, it was easier, Vaylin had a feeling, to not care--about the Alliance, about its commander, about all the people here who clearly didn’t trust her. It was easier, because  _ caring _ , because hoping  _ they _ cared, seemed nearly unimaginable, even as the possibility dangled over her head every time she remembered that line of concern between Sethali’s brows, or Lord Kahla’s simple, easy comment about the holo Vaylin had taken, or even Natalle who treated her no differently than anyone else on this base.

She could choose that, and believe it, she had a feeling, but that was the same side that made her think of cold, empty throne rooms, a cold, empty palace with nameless faces that cared nothing for her as a  _ person _ , and it left a void in Vaylin’s chest that seemed just as suffocating as Nathema had been.

On the other--that was harder to determine, because she didn’t  _ know _ yet what lay on that other side, not for certain. Vaylin looked down, at the tiny plot of land Sethali had begun to cultivate a small garden in, the commander’s own little sliver of peace, and her lip curled just slightly, with a kind of resigned acceptance that had the barest sliver of hope.

She didn’t know what lay on that other side, going forward, but she knew that it could not possibly be worse than what lay behind.

Vaylin rose to her feet--what she planned on doing was still somewhat up in the air, though for some undefinable reason she thought she ought to do  _ something _ \--but just as she took her first step forward, something must have tipped Sethali off that she wasn’t alone, as her head jerked up suddenly to lock eyes with Vaylin’s, who stopped mid-stride.

In the space between one blink and the next Sethali regained her composure, and if Vaylin didn’t know any better she’d have said Sethali looked no different than usual, but she’d always had a keen eye for detail, and she saw the differences now.

“I...Vaylin. I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.” Sethali cleared her throat and linked her hands behind her back.

A beat of hesitant quiet fell, then Vaylin scuffed one of her boots in the dirt and jerked her head towards the small plot Sethali kept her garden in. “I have a question.”

Sethali blinked, and let her hands drift at her sides. “All right.”

“Why are you growing things for someone that isn’t here?” Vaylin waved a hand towards the area the Alderaanian flame-lilies were supposedly in, though it hadn’t produced anything resembling a flower quite yet.

It was a blunt question, and could have possibly been taken badly, but Sethali only arched a brow as she slowly approached the garden herself, giving Vaylin time to back away if she felt she needed to--and she didn’t, for now. “Perhaps I’m growing them for when she gets back.”

Without further comment, Sethali began pulling at her gloves and dropped them carelessly to the ground beside her feet, shucking her dark leather jacket with its armored shoulders shortly after, leaving just the shirt under it, kneeling where Vaylin had been only a few moments ago. She hesitated, but remained standing.

“I’ve been called to Ziost soon.” Sethali spoke again without looking up, checking her notes on the flimsi beside each plant. “I’d like you to come with us, if you’re up to it.”

“Why?” Vaylin narrowed her eyes and planted one fist on her hip.

Sethali looked up. “The Sith you spoke to on Dromund Kaas--the one who gave you the resources to rescue myself and Acina--was approached by a former Dark Lord notoriously known for being unpredictable. They’re waiting aboard the Ziost orbital station, and apparently have some sort of offer for me.” here Sethali’s voice shifted slightly, became more tightly controlled, and the tense line of Vaylin’s lips became a scowl. “From what I understand, the lord in question, Darth Occlus, knows something...potentially compromising. I need to meet them myself to hear them out.”

“I’m still not hearing why you want me to go with you.” Vaylin folded her arms and let her scowl sink a little deeper.

Sethali’s lip quirked up into something that tried to be a grin, but the anxious, restless look in her eye was too heavy to fully outweigh it. “I guess I would just appreciate having you there. That’s all, I suppose. It might be more interesting than staying on Odessen, at least.”

It wasn’t an especially significant answer, but Vaylin still found herself flummoxed anyway and couldn’t have said why. “Fine.” came out of her mouth, with  _ some _ of the usual bite in her tone, but not all. “When are we going on this potentially dangerous trip to meet a notoriously unpredictable Sith lord?”

This time Sethali’s grin was stronger than the exhaustion in her eyes. “I’ll let you know, but sometime in the next few days. I’m a bit short on allies at the moment, so it’s a priority.”

There wasn’t much Vaylin knew about the Alliance’s chief supporters outside of Odessen, but she did know that much--Sethali’s decision to reject Acina’s alliance had been the catalyst to several fights around the base over the past several days, though the incidents had been quietly and hurriedly covered up. “Is that why you came down here in such a rush?”

“No, it wasn’t...it was something else.” Sethali’s hands, already wrist-deep in the soil, faltered, and she quickly changed topics. “Before I forget, Natalle asked if you might do a favor for her.”

“What  _ kind _ of favor?”

“A minor, clerical one.” Sethali’s smile was strained, but teasing. “I think she’s just gotten used to having a power base to handle the minutiae of her work for her."

Vaylin rolled her eyes. “Lovely. I suppose I’m to be her new lackey, then.”

There was a little bitterness in that, Vaylin thought as she took the lift back up to Odessen base proper and found the corridor where Natalle and Kahla kept their infirmary, but it didn’t feel quite as much like a punishment as it might’ve when she’d first set foot here.

Within the infirmary, Vaylin leaned her head cautiously around the doorway to the first office she saw. Natalle stood with her back facing Vaylin, looking over a holographic diagram of some kind of chemical, datapad in hand.

“Good afternoon, Vaylin.” Natalle said without turning around, looking over the diagram for a few more seconds before shutting the display off.

“How did you know it was me?” a hint of suspicion wormed its way into Vaylin’s chest, and she didn’t set foot inside just yet.

“I sensed you.” Natalle said absently, smacking a few datapads down on her desk while she muttered to herself, “...Can never keep anything straight around here now Kahla’s back. Anyway, even if I hadn’t sensed you coming the moment you left Odessen’s lift to the wilds, I had a feeling it was likely since I asked the Commander for some assistance with a somewhat minor task.”

“Yes, but she was frustratingly vague as to what that task  _ was _ .” Vaylin stood just at the threshold but didn’t cross over just yet.

“It’s exceedingly boring, I’m afraid.” Natalle strode with a flourish over to the desk at the other side of the cramped office and made a vague noise of triumph. “Found it. Contrary to what the Commander or anyone else would tell you, I  _ would _ prefer to do this myself, but...”

Vaylin waited, then made an expectant get-on-with-it gesture. “But  _ what?” _

“I can’t read datapads very well.” Natalle finally muttered. “Holographic displays I can handle if I turn the intensity up, but datapad text, surprisingly enough, doesn’t have much of a presence in the Force that allows me to ‘see’ it. I could have my datapad read it out, but it would take much longer than simply asking someone else to do it.”

“And by ‘it’,” Vaylin began slowly, trying not to lose her patience, “you mean...”

“Inventory.” Natalle shrugged. “As I said, very boring, but it’s necessary. I need to get a list of supplies we’re low on to the Commander to see if her ally in the Empire could send us anything. We get smuggled shipments in through Hylo’s network, but it’s not always up to the standards I need.”

“And  _ I _ was the first person you thought to ask to do this?” Vaylin arched one brow, rife with skepticism, but didn’t protest when Natalle set the datapad down where Vaylin could reach it.

“Every time I’ve seen you around this base,” Natalle took a seat at her desk and put some kind of earpiece in one ear, “you look bored out of your skull. This may be boring, too, but at least it’s something to do, is it not?”

Natalle’s attention refocused on whatever she was listening to, but Vaylin took the datapad and slowly eased herself into the chair across from Natalle’s desk. A list that promised to be long and tedious stretched before Vaylin’s eyes, and she let out a small, frustrated breath, but found it tempered with acceptance.

She was here, had chosen to come to Odessen from Voss, and it led her here, to a desk in an office in the heart of the Alliance’s base, across from one of the most powerful Sith lords in the galaxy. She’d have laughed herself silly if someone had told her a few months ago this was where she’d end up.

_ Well, _ she thought, scrolling down to the first item on Natalle’s list,  _ choice is funny like that, sometimes. _

 

* * *

 

As a medical professional--well, kind of--Zoai liked to think her opinion was worth at least enough to pay attention to. Once or twice. Given the amount of money the Republic had put into Zoai’s education during her privateer days, she was inclined to think her opinion was worth a  _ lot _ , actually. No matter if the  _ Doombringer’ _ s residents seemed to take flouting her medical advice as some kind of  _ challenge _ .

Personally, Zoai thought that they were waiting to see who’d give in first--Yevari, who staunchly seemed to ignore most pieces of advice Zoai produced, or Zoai, who was determined to out-stubborn her sister. Medical aid was never a game, was one of the few things Zoai took completely seriously, and that was what made  _ this _ situation so frustrating.

“You’re  _ sure _ this can’t wait until after the Zakuul mission?” Zoai paced a line into the deck just within the sparring chamber Ashara had sent up months ago. Cassaire, standing in front of her, was still wearing plain clothes, not sparring gear, and that was the only thing that reassured Zoai even moderately that they weren’t planning on doing anything stupid, like those ridiculously acrobatic flips Force-users seemed to love doing. Bunch of show-offs.

“I’m not saying we’re going to start with live lightsaber full-contact sparring, Zo.” Cassaire’s arms were folded neatly across her chest, her weight balanced on one side, exasperation etched into her frame. “We just want to make sure everything will hold up if we find ourselves in a situation more intense than a physical therapy session.”

“Which you  _ shouldn’t _ .” Zoai muttered. “Not if we play our cards right.”

“Since when has everything going right been the norm?” Cassaire’s dry and weary grin was evidence enough that she was feeling the pressure from the daily countdown, as well, almost as much as Yevari was, and that meant Zoai would have to add  _ another _ person to her list of people to hound about getting a proper amount of sleep.

“True, but I’m an optimist.” Zoai replied cheerfully. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I stay to watch, all the same.”

Cassaire shrugged. “You can stay, but we won’t be doing much of anything, today.” She pulled a datapad from her pocket and held it out to Zoai, who raised both brows with mild curiosity.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Zoai took the datapad and scrolled through what looked like a short list of exercises, including small notations on what could likely wait until after the Zakuul mission. “You’ve...put a lot of thought into this.”

“A few nights’ worth, I suppose.”

“Well...” Zoai handed the datapad back, and folded her arms. “I still think I want to stay. Y’know. Just in case.”

Cassaire’s only stipulation for allowing Zoai to stay was that she had to be somewhat out of the way and inconspicuous, which Zoai conceded was probably a good idea. She found a few storage crates stacked in such a way that she could sit on one, lean on another, and prop her feet up on the third, holding her own datapad with the latest and greatest comm traffic from within the fleet. Yevari hadn’t ruled out the possibility of Acina possibly planting someone within her fleet, and with so much uncertain right now, Zoai had been tasked, when she was able, to verify their security.

Not her usual, but it was better than boredom.

Half an hour passed, and Zoai didn’t even look up until she heard the metallic  _ CLANG _ of vibroswords colliding--her head jerked up to see Cassaire holding two, one in each hand, as she was clearly demonstrating something, then handed one off to Arcann, who apparently had arrived without Zoai even noticing. So much for situational awareness.

She paid more attention this time as Cassaire went through a series of motions that Zoai vaguely recognized from the descriptions on her datapad, a series of stretches one did while still holding a vibrosword. She was too far away to hear specific words, but watched as Arcann attempted the same motions--Cassaire stopped halfway through and said something, and he snapped a response in turn. Unruffled, Cassaire shook her head and real, rare frustration crossed her face for a split second before it passed. She went through the same motion again, and Zoai didn’t have to be any closer to see the scowl on Arcann’s face as he petulantly watched, arms folded.

After another half hour of the same, Zoai sighed and got up, switching off her datapad--she was satisfied Cassaire wasn’t planning on taking the kid gloves off right away, and she had other preparations to make before they left.

In the ship’s corridors, Zoai passed a few more maintenance crews on their way to engineering. Yevari still hadn’t given up on repairing her hyperdrive just in case this whole plan backfired and they had to flee, but it seemed to be a losing battle without additional supplies.

Yevari’s hangars sat mostly empty now, with the fighters that had been stored in them either destroyed or kept in more permanent storage without pilots to fly them. In one of those sparsely-populated auxiliary hangars sat Zoai’s old freighter, the same one she’d first left Rishi in over two decades ago. It’d seen its share of wear and tear since then--Zoai  _ tsk _ -ed her tongue at the sight of where a new dent in the hull had been left after the most recent battle. It’d likely been jostled loose from its docking clamps.

Climbing up the ramp to her ship was the closest Zoai felt she’d ever get to feeling like she was coming home, and a layer of tension lifted off her shoulders as she darted down the familiar passageway to the captain’s chair and the galaxy map hovering just above. That map had taken her everywhere since leaving Rishi, for better or worse.

Instead of sitting in the captain’s chair, Zoai took the chair just to the left, and began running a hull check on her ship. If she was lucky, that hull dent was superficial--they couldn’t really afford delays at this point.

Her ship computer chimed and Zoai pulled up the report.

_ VESSEL CLASS: Corellian XS Light Freighter _

_ VESSEL REGISTRY: Spitfire _

_ HULL INTEGRITY: 97% _

“Well,” Zoai remarked to herself, getting up in search of a toolkit, “may as well round out that last three percent.”

Her ship, the  _ Spitfire _ , had held the name for as long as Zoai had owned the ship, bought second-hand off one of the Nova Blades her mother worked with, and she’d been asked no fewer than two dozen times where the name had come from. When Yevari had asked, after they’d reunited in Raider’s Cove, Zoai hadn’t had the heart to say it’d been named for her, after she vanished from Rishi under the slavers’ wings. It seemed a little too raw for their first discussion topic after seeing each other for the first time after nearly two decades, and it hadn’t come up since.

As if on cue, the holocom in the central area of the ship went off, and Zoai went to answer it--Yevari’s image emerged, tired shadows under her eyes. Zoai pursed her lips but kept her inflection lighthearted. “Hey, Yev. What’s going on?”

“Just checking in.” Yevari rubbed her face in one hand and muffled a yawn behind it, but Zoai caught it. “Is your ship still serviceable?”

Zoai huffed. “My ship is  _ far _ more than ‘serviceable’.”

It got a faint laugh out of her, so Zoai called it a victory. “I wanted to get underway as soon as possible. We’re cutting things awfully tight, and I’d rather not be stranded here longer than I have to be.”

“So, what, you wanna leave tonight?” Zoai began mentally rifling through where she could’ve put her toolkit before writing it off. Ninety-seven percent would have to be good enough. “I guess we can, but I’ll still need a few hours to get pre-flight stuff taken care of. Been a while since this thing’s seen actual space travel.”

“Then do that.” Yevari seemed ready to disconnect the channel, but Zoai raised one hand to keep Yevari’s attention. “ _ What _ , Zo?”

“Yev,” Zoai could hear the strain in her voice and knew that Yevari had to hear it too, her posture stiffening, “would it make  _ any _ difference if I told you to get some damn sleep while we’re gone?”

“Probably not,” Yevari admitted, “but I promise I will once you arrive on Zakuul.”

She did leave that time, her image vanishing in a blink and leaving Zoai with a laundry list of things to do.

“All right,” Zoai said as she began to prepare her ship in earnest, “once more unto the breach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, thank you to everyone for bearing with me while I got this chapter out--a lot of outside stress has left only a little time for writing, but hopefully things will be more exciting next chapter. As always, thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

Something grated on Vaylin’s nerves, and she had no idea what.

That feeling of vague irritation with even vaguer hints of frustration hung around Vaylin’s head like her own personal storm cloud, not dark enough to put her in a sour mood, but definitely impossible to ignore. Ever since she’d set foot outside the quarters she’d been loaned until Lord Castor’s inevitable return, she’d felt  _bothered_. Distracted.

Her sleep had been somewhat broken of late, but that had been consistent ever since her arrival here on Odessen. Sometimes she walked the base’s corridors, other times she simply laid in the lumpy, uneven bed and stared at the roughly-hewn stone ceiling, and sometimes, only rarely, she reached out for the holocamera she’d stored on the desk across the room, and looked at the two images she’d taken--one of Odessen’s wilds, one of the sunrise over the valley just below the base that she’d shared with the Alliance commander.

With  _Sethali_.

It was a small, inconsequential thing, and more often than not Vaylin struggled with the urge to simply destroy the camera, as a pointless, useless object suitable only for wasting time, to destroy it before it could be taken from her, but no one had asked for it back as of yet, and it’d been weeks since Sethali had first handed it to her on their brief foray into the wilds. Vaylin supposed it belonged to her now. One of the only things she could truly call her own among the Alliance.

Vaylin tugged at her sleeve and scowled as she turned the corner to the infirmary. It was a habit she’d developed since helping Natalle with her medical inventory almost a week ago, and the fabric on that side was starting to get noticeably stretched and worn. Roughly brushing the fabric like that was what she’d intended to do all along, Vaylin rounded the corner to the infirmary’s entrance and heard the sound of Natalle’s voice drifting from the office doorway, quietly enough she wouldn’t have been easily heard by any of the infirmary’s occupants.

“--no way to test the viability of such a technique from an ethical perspective. Note to self: ask the Commander if her ally in the Empire could acquire more detailed records of--” Natalle broke off as Vaylin cautiously poked her head around the doorway, but didn’t turn around until she said, “End log,” and set a datapad down on her desk. “Good morning, Vaylin.”

“I’m bored.” Vaylin complained as she hefted herself up onto the desk across from Natalle’s--probably Lord Kahla’s, if Vaylin had to guess--and let her feet dangle.

“To the best of my recollection, ‘bored’ is not a medical condition.” Natalle informed Vaylin tartly, picking up a different datapad from a shelf nearby stacked with several of them. “So I’m somewhat unsure what exactly I ought to prescribe you.”

Somehow, Vaylin felt inexplicably that it was important, that she felt irritated and simply  _bothered_ , and came here first. She felt she ought to have avoided the place at all costs, because Mother was still within, somewhere, and Vaylin felt her chest tighten just thinking that, but Natalle was here, too, and no matter what Vaylin felt about the rest of the Alliance at the moment, since standing in Sethali’s garden last week and choosing the uncertain, unfamiliar path to growth, she knew that Natalle felt a little like the first step. A little like the beginnings of familiarity.

Vaylin doubted the prickly Sith even understood the importance of it, but she hadn’t asked Vaylin to leave or implied that she was bothered by her presence, so Vaylin stayed.

“You  _always_  have something to do.” Vaylin scowled and tugged at her sleeve again before batting it away with a frustrated noise. “And you would’ve told me to leave by now if I was bothering you.”

That had been mostly a guess on Vaylin’s part, a kind of guess that left a light and hollow feeling of anticipation in her chest for a split second before Natalle set a hand on her hip and replied, “True, on both counts, but the Commander’s leaving for Ziost today, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I believe you intended to join her. I’ll be going, as well, so I’m locking down any last-minute tasks before I make my own preparations to depart.”

“Why are you going?” Vaylin’s scowl deepened slightly and she tightened her hands into fists to keep from tugging on her sleeve again. “It’s not supposed to be that dangerous.”

Natalle made a humorless sound as she continued moving around the office, picking up a few datapads and making notations on them before setting them back down. “Ziost itself is inherently dangerous in many regards, particularly to Force-users. Its atmosphere is still breathable, though it’s not recommended to expose oneself to it longer than strictly necessary. Its real risk lies in its corrupting influence. How much do you know of the Ziost cataclysm?”

Vaylin wasn’t particularly in the mood for a lecture, but she  _was_  curious. The planet’s name tugged at a few distant strings of memory, but she’d never particularly cared to raid Arcann’s reports on it after he’d dismissed it as a tactical concern during the war. “Nothing,” she finally admitted, begrudgingly.

“Well, this is the short version--Vitiate, the former Sith Emperor, unleashed a massive wave of dark-side energy all across the planet’s surface after possessing many of the planet’s inhabitants and turning them on one another. Every living thing on the planet’s surface was killed.” Natalle replied matter-of-factly as she tapped a few keys on the computer terminal in the office’s corner. “Ziost was already strong in the dark side, and after the event, it became...” Natalle paused as she searched for the right word, hands balanced on her desk, “...unstable. But to answer your question, I asked the commander if I could accompany her both to satisfy my curiosity and to be on hand for my expertise if needed.”

Natalle’s use of the word ‘ _unstable_ ’ chilled Vaylin’s blood for a split second before she attempted to squash the feeling down. Uneasiness remained, and joined the irritation and frustration she’d felt since leaving her borrowed room this morning.

Vaylin sensed Sethali coming long before the commander poked her head through Natalle’s office doorway, but made no move to get down from Kahla’s desk. Something that tried to be a grin twitched at one side of her mouth as she made brief eye contact with Vaylin before turning to Natalle. “We’re getting ready to leave within the hour, Nat. Kahla said she could take over the rest of the afternoon.”

Natalle made a surprised noise. “Already? I thought I’d at least have a few more hours.”

“We may have a...developing situation on Nar Shaddaa.” Sethali hadn’t lost the tense, exhausted look she’d carried in her shoulders ever since Vaylin had watched her pace a rough, anxious line in the dirt outside of Odessen’s base a week ago, and the marks under her eyes had gotten deeper, and darker--in the infirmary’s lighting, her skin even looked a paler shade of green than normal. “I’d rather get this business with Darth Occlus sorted out sooner than later, in case I need to redeploy.”

The pursed lip Natalle gave Sethali told Vaylin that she was thinking Sethali needed to do anything other than redeploy, but in the end she said nothing but, “We’ll be in the main hangar soon.”

Then Sethali was gone, and Vaylin tried not to be disappointed that her acknowledgement of Vaylin’s presence had been all but nonexistent. It was disappointment she knew she had little right to.

“Vaylin,” Natalle said suddenly, slightly lower in pitch than normal, such that Vaylin almost felt like the energetic Sith scientist was being conspiratorial with her, but that implied a kind of camaraderie she didn’t think they had yet, “take this datapad, and don’t lose it. I want to bring it with us for the trip to Ziost, but if Sethali thinks I have it, she’ll scold me.”

Vaylin turned the datapad every which way, trying to see what was so special about it, but came up empty. Its screen listed encrypted, nonsensical titles to a long line of audio files. “What would she care if you bring a datapad with you?”

“It’s not just any datapad--it’s got all the information for a personal project Sethali asked me to look into during my free time.” Natalle shut down a final terminal and strode briskly into the hall, leaving Vaylin to trail behind as she dropped herself off Kahla’s desk and picked up her pace to catch up. “She’d scold me for working on it during our trip instead of reading up on the latest Ziost data, but I’m hardly going to have a better time to work on this than a hyperspace journey. Not to mention the fact there  _is_  no new Ziost data, insofar as I know.”

Walking through Odessen base’s corridors with Natalle felt unusual to Vaylin, only in that Vaylin had previously only ever wandered alone. She knew very well that she was likely being monitored, but being monitored by lifeless machines was far different than walking alongside someone else.

The crew that Sethali planned to take was clearly designed to be a small and under-the-radar one--aside from herself and Natalle, the only other person in the appointed hangar was the Wrath; the last time Vaylin had crossed paths with him had been Voss, what felt like a whole other lifetime ago.

“Are we ready?” Sethali surveyed the group.

“As ready as we can be after  _some_  of us were dragged away from our work, hours ahead of schedule.” Natalle retorted, and Vaylin rolled her eyes.

Sethali’s grin was more present this time, but didn’t fully reach her eyes. “Let’s be off, then.”

The shuttle they planned to use was clearly outfitted for long-distance travel with multiple passengers--four bunks were situated in one section of the ship, with a small leisure area just beyond, outfitted with a typical spacer couch and table. A few crates of what had to be supplies for the journey were strapped meticulously down to the deck. Sethali took the pilot’s chair and nobody remarked on it, so Vaylin figured it was up to her to ask, “ _You’re_  the one flying us?”

“I prefer to do my own flying.” Sethali’s response was distant, her attention already focused intently on the console in front of her. “You ought to strap in for the initial departure.”

Feeling rebuffed again, Vaylin sniffed and flounced into the nearest crash seat. Natalle took the one next to her, but didn’t speak until the shuttle’s landing struts were off the ground and the ship began to ascend through Odessen’s atmosphere. “Try not to take it personally.”

“Take what personally?” Vaylin groused, tugging at her sleeve again. Something about the garment bothered her, and she still couldn’t put her finger on  _what_. Stopping short of tearing it in her frustration, Vaylin folded her arms tightly over her chest instead.

Natalle jerked her head in the direction of the pilot’s chair, where Sethali guided them carefully and skillfully into hyperspace. “I’m sure I don’t need to be the one to tell you the kind of strain one’s mind might go through when hosting a significantly more powerful presence. It would be hard enough on someone who’s Force-sensitive, but Sethali--” Natalle shook her head slowly. “She was never meant for this.”

Vaylin chewed that over as the shuttle entered hyperspace, and the shuttle’s other two inhabitants got up and began to attend to various tasks in the enclosed space. In that moment, Vaylin felt far more in the way than she had even sitting on Kahla’s desk.

Unstrapping from the seat, Vaylin went to the pilot’s cockpit instead, where Sethali sat, holding a datapad in her lap. She looked up at Vaylin’s approach and offered that same half-hearted attempt at a grin, but she wasn’t fooled anymore. She wasn’t sure how  _anyone_  could be fooled, not when the lines of exhaustion around Sethali’s face seemingly grew deeper every time Vaylin saw her.

“Bored?” Sethali asked, shutting the datapad off. “I’m afraid on a ship this size it can hardly be helped.”

“I have a question.”

“I hope I’ll have an answer.”

“Why did you bring me along?” Vaylin waved one hand at the shuttle space behind her, where Natalle and the Wrath, Yuhanos, continued to keep themselves occupied. “Natalle said something about the Emperor having to do with Ziost, so the Wrath I understand, and that its ‘corrupting influence’,” Vaylin put the words in air quotes, “was something she wanted to keep an eye on. Why am I here?”

Sethali’s grin spread just a fraction more. “That seems like a question you ought to be asking yourself, isn’t it? I did give you the choice whether to come or not.”

With a scoff, Vaylin leaned against the console and folded her arms, the urge to tug at her sleeve becoming overwhelming. “Maybe, but it’s not like I can do much for you here.”

There was some bitterness in that, but it couldn’t be helped. Sethali blinked once, twice, then turned the pilot’s chair to face Vaylin directly. “I asked you to come not because I needed you to  _do_  anything for me, Vaylin. I have people that I can ask to accomplish most tasks I need done, if I can’t do them myself--and I can’t, since I could hardly be everywhere at once--but I didn’t ask if you wanted to come because I needed anything done. I asked if you wanted to come because I appreciate you being here.”

“Here in this shuttle?” Vaylin couldn’t resist quipping. “Seems awfully specific.”

Sethali did something unexpected, then--she  _laughed_.

It was short, but it lit up her face far brighter than it’d been in weeks, and for a split second some of the tension lines in her face melted away, sloughing years of age off with them. Some kind of emotion, unusual and warm, left a pinpoint of light in Vaylin’s chest, a half-forgotten thing that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to chase away or hold onto with all her might.

“‘Here’ was perhaps a bit vague, wasn’t it?” Sethali’s red eyes still danced with humor even as some of the hard lines of stress returned to her face. “I suppose the long and short of it is that I appreciate you being here, Vaylin: with the Alliance, assisting our missions--since it’s doubtful we’d have all made it off Dromund Kaas alive if you hadn’t been there--making the choices that you want. You’re a part of us for as long as you want, no more and no less.”

 _Us_. It was a simple word, but it revealed to Vaylin, in a flash, why her sleeve--and by extension, the robes she’d worn as the High Justice--bothered her so much. With the Alliance, she was not the High Justice. She wasn’t sure what she was, but the title felt too big to fit now, and left a clear divide between her and the rest of these people. Regardless if she stayed here, Vaylin didn’t know that she ever wanted to be known as ‘High Justice’ ever again.

“I want to get rid of this.” Vaylin indicated her sleeve with some kind of indescribable nervousness.

Sethali’s eyes widened comically. “Your sleeve? I wouldn’t recommend it. Ziost is awfully chilly.”

Ready to snap a response, Vaylin’s jaw shut abruptly as soon as she realized Sethali was  _teasing_  her. As easily as anything, Vaylin shot back dryly, “Yes. Just the one sleeve, of course.”

“Of course.” Sethali’s grin had begun to fade, but it left its bright echo on the curve of her cheek. “It can’t be helped until we get back to Odessen, but I’ll see what sort of things I can scare up for you when we return.”

There was nothing else Vaylin particularly needed or wanted to say, but she didn’t want to leave, either, so instead she turned her attention to that brief, shining feeling in her chest, something like warmth, something that might’ve been familiarity, more recognizable and welcome now than it had ever been--

\--something like peace, if she remembered what peace felt like, planted like a seed in Vaylin’s heart.

* * *

 

Arcann regarded Zoai’s freighter with no small amount of wariness.

It was clearly old and had seen a great deal of use--dents marked it up and down the hull, and its once-vibrant paint, in bright shades of yellow, orange, and deep red, was faded, worn, and chipped. It sat proudly on its landing struts in the  _Doombringer_ ’s main hangar, while the pilot herself ran last-minute checks, darting around the ship with a datapad in one hand and a procession of tools passing through the other, being tossed into a nearby toolbox when she was done with them.

He could have just pretended he was wary solely about the ship, but the honest truth, the truth he was still trying to reconcile, was that he didn’t know how he felt returning to Zakuul. It was his  _home_ , and it had been the seat of his empire for five years, so logically there shouldn’t have been any doubt or hesitation, but that was precisely what he felt.

He had left the people there without any direction or even a fleet to defend themselves, leaderless and aimless. All he knew was that, laying under the debris that fell from his flagship’s bridge while his own fleet tore the vessel apart, defeated by the Outlander with that deceptively exhausted look in her deep crimson eyes, there had been no time for any thought to the Eternal Empire’s future.

Being pulled from that rubble, taken to Voss, chased by Lord Castor, and ending up here--those things had never been accounted for.

Lord Castor herself sat on the opened entrance hatch to Zoai’s freighter, outfitted in the same long trench coat she sported when not in her regular armor. That, along with most of their supplies, had been stored in the freighter’s cargo hold until their arrival.

Absently adjusting the long sleeves of the unfamiliar shirt he wore, Arcann surveyed the outfit he was “borrowing” from one of Darth Imperius’ crew on short notice. It was roughly his size, but some of the hems were just slightly too snug. It came with a long jacket not too dissimilar from Lord Castor’s own, along with a hood and mask to disguise his identity.

“Don’t make me regret allowing you to leave my ship.” came Darth Imperius’ voice from his bad side, suddenly enough Arcann had to resist flinching. The fact she’d done so, and the curt method in which her words were delivered, was evidence enough how she felt on the matter.

Arcann turned and looked down at Imperius, and found her already looking up at him, tattooed face unreadable and bright green eyes fixing him with a steady, even gaze that somehow managed to be piercing.

When he didn’t respond, Imperius looked back at the freighter, where Zoai struggled to fasten down one last panel she’d been working under, and Lord Castor offered a distant word of advice that he was too far away to catch. She gestured towards them with a hand wave that tried to give off nonchalance. “I personally don’t agree with sending you away, particularly in such a small space with only Zo and Cass. I told Cass it gave you far too much of an opportunity to escape. It feels like I’m practically offering you a free ship.”

“If I wanted it,” Arcann began slowly, considering his words, “I would have to take it.”

“Which is precisely my concern.” the air around them grew sharper, and locks of Imperius’ wavy red hair began to lift slightly with static electricity as her voice darkened. “I have not much family in this galaxy I care to protect anymore, Arcann, and duty forces me to send away two of the four people I care the most about, with  _you_  as their passenger. So I’ll repeat:  _don’t_  make me regret allowing you to leave my ship.”

Darth Imperius turned on her heel and swept away, bringing her intense and volatile energy, held just barely in check, with her. Arcann felt even worse about the trip than before, but it wasn’t as though Imperius’ concern was unwarranted. He wasn’t, he reflected bitterly, particularly known for his trustworthiness.

“Think we’re as good as we’re gonna get.” Zoai announced, rapping her fingers on the hull. “Let’s load up and haul jets--we’ve got a deadline to meet.”

Zoai whisked up the ramp and vanished into the ship first, but Lord Castor waited, and Arcann warred between confusion and gratefulness, but she said nothing until they entered the ship itself and heard the door seal shut. “What did Yev want?”

Imperius hadn’t particularly  _wanted_  anything, except to deliver a potent reminder that he was not trusted, and likely did not deserve whatever trust that had already been offered him. “Nothing.” he replied sullenly, taking one of the seats in the freighter’s main room, its cushions cracked and shiny and flattened with use.

Lord Castor all but radiated skepticism, but he was spared from further questioning by Zoai calling from the bridge, “Cass, you mind doing a quick check on our supplies before we jump? If we forgot anything, now’s the time to let Yev know.”

There was a brief hesitation where Arcann wasn’t sure if Lord Castor would leave, but she turned and vanished down another corridor without comment. A few seconds later, Zoai emerged from the bridge and plopped herself down in the chair across from the couch Arcann sat on, pulling a diagnostic scanner from her belt. Her brown fabric jacket had been discarded in favor of a sleeveless vest in dark leather, with a simple shirt under it. Her right arm was mottled with the same burn scarring that marked the right side of her face, and she ran her diagnostic scanner over the area just in time for Lord Castor to return and make a frustrated noise.

“Zo, you know you should have someone else do that.” her outstretched hand and stern tone left no room for argument.

Zoai slapped the scanner into Lord Castor’s waiting palm with no small amount of exasperation. “There’s no way you checked on all of our supplies that fast.”

“Iona warned me you were about due to have these checked.” Lord Castor informed her with a faint grin as she shut the scanner down and handed it back to Zoai, who begrudgingly took it. “And I know you too well to assume you would ask someone else to do it for you.”

Zoai rolled her whole head as she balanced one ankle over her knee. “Internal cybernetics.” she said for Arcann’s benefit. “They need maintenance like once a year, and it’s been just a bit too hectic for me to ask Io to do it.”

“So she mistakenly attempts to do it herself, despite being warned against doing so.” Lord Castor slipped around Zoai’s chair and sat on the opposite end of the couch from where Arcann himself sat.

Part of him--an admittedly large part of him--envied how easily Zoai displayed the marks, talked about them like they were nothing to be ashamed of. Even Lord Castor herself had a noticeable web of scars on one side of her face, and while she perhaps wasn’t as casual about them as Zoai was, she’d certainly never mentioned them.

“You don’t have to sound so satisfied about it, Cass.” Zoai stretched both arms above her head. “Now, we’re gonna cruise on sublight for about a half hour before I can jump us into hyperspace. This old thing can’t really charge up its hyperdrive as fast as it used to.”

“I hear a lot of old ships have that problem.” Lord Castor said without missing a beat, and Arcann couldn’t suppress a snort of amusement in time.

Zoai looked offended, folding both her arms over her chest. “Listen--it’s not about how fast you can charge up the hyperdrive, it’s about how well it works when it’s charged.” A slow grin spread over her face, and she said, “By the way,  _since_  we have some spare time between now and our jump, I think it’d be a great time to play a good friendly game of sabacc.”

“Absolutely not.” Lord Castor arched a single brow as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her ankles. “The last time I played with you--”

“Are you going to keep bringing that up?”

“As long as it takes to get the message across.”

“I solemnly swear, on my life, that you will not lose the clothes off your back to this sabacc game.” Zoai rolled her eyes. “Can we play now?”

Card games were somewhat outside the realm of his knowledge, but sitting and watching, even from right next to both of them, seemed absurdly lonely. Still... “I don’t know how.” he told them flatly, because even in such an inconsequential thing, admitting he  _didn’t_  know something grated on his ego.

“No problem--Cass can help you pick up the ropes during this game.” Zoai glanced between them. “Assuming you still remember how to play.”

Lord Castor shifted down on the couch but still left a modest half of one couch cushion between them as Zoai pulled out a holographic projector and set it on the table top in front of them. When she activated it, a display with hovering cards floated before them, one set for each side of the table. He couldn’t make heads or damned tails of it.

“You’re...prepared for this?” he asked, only half expecting Lord Castor to respond.

Lord Castor snorted. “No one is ever really prepared for Zo, because she’s a filthy cheat--”

“For your information, I’m the cleanest cheat I know--”

“But at least she can’t take the clothes off our backs.” Lord Castor finished. “Not this game.”

It  _was_  fun. It took a while for the rules to be explained--particularly when he was forced to stop them every few minutes as new questions or objections popped up--but Lord Castor and Zoai took the necessary time to do so, and, by the time Zoai got up to jump her ship into hyperspace, he had some sort of grasp on it.

“All right, time to get this mission underway.” Zoai clapped her hands onto her knees as she stood up. “Don’t get up to too much fun while I’m gone.”

Arcann watched Lord Castor lean forward slightly, focusing intently as Zoai rounded the corner, and after a beat of quiet, she reached over and hit the ‘shuffle’ button on the holographic display, then another button he couldn’t tell the purpose of after such a brief look--the representation of a deck of cards flashed briefly, then settled.

“What--” he managed to ask, but Lord Castor put a finger up to her mouth, a clear indicator he should hold his tongue.

Torn between annoyance and curiosity, he listened for a moment longer as the deck below their feet got the sprung feeling most small ships got when transitioning to hyperspace, then Lord Castor spoke under her breath, “Zo’s deck is programmed to be stacked in her favor. I remember it from last time. She shuffles it a specific amount of times to get all the specific cards she needs to win in order.”

“And you just--” Arcann got it after a split second, eyebrows shooting up with shock.

“I switched the shuffle order so now  _we’ll_  get all the cards we need.” Lord Castor’s eyes danced with a kind of sly and satisfied mischief he hadn’t thought her capable of, but she leaned back nonchalantly, fingers laced behind her head as Zoai sauntered back around the corner.

“All right, let’s get this back under way.” taking her seat, Zoai reached for the ‘draw’ button to take a card from the programmed deck, then froze.

“Is something wrong, Zo?” Lord Castor asked innocently, convincingly sincere.

“Uh...no! Nope, nothing’s wrong.” Zoai’s grin looked more forced than normal, but she sat up a little straighter in her seat. “Let’s get back to it.”

Arcann didn’t know what was funnier about the remainder of their game--Zoai growing increasingly baffled when her programmed deck didn’t give her the correct cards, or Lord Castor continuing to ask, with genuine, heartfelt concern, if everything was all right as Zoai’s confusion grew. Lord Castor played their winning card, and Zoai lowered her head onto her arms, folded on top of the table.

“I can’t  _believe_  you turned my own card deck against me, Cass.” Zoai’s muffled voice accused Lord Castor, who looked quite pleased with herself.

“Force knows you’ve turned it against me  _many_  times.” Lord Castor countered with a smirk. “I should think it’s considered fair play to turn it against  _you_  for a change.”

Arcann doubted he deserved it, deserved  _any_  of it--the conspiratorial glint in Lord Castor’s eye, Zoai’s patient explanations to his many objections during the game, the confusion and satisfaction that grew in each of them as Lord Castor’s subterfuge became obvious--but he pressed the memory close anyway, kept it at hand and hoped it stayed just as clear and fresh in his mind as it was today, for as long as it could.

And if he wanted to remember the way Lord Castor’s face had brightened as her surprising and delightful mischief was realized, just a little more than the rest of the game, well.

That wasn’t any of anyone’s business, now was it?


End file.
